


Charming Beauty Bright

by evilgiraff



Series: Charming Beauty Bright and outtakes [1]
Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilgiraff/pseuds/evilgiraff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can you cope when you are left all alone? Sometimes little epiphanies can be life-changing. Sometimes new friends can make all the difference. Originally written for the Love Lost contest on fanfiction.net, now extended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is rated for mild sex scenes and allusions to depression and suicide - if you think this subject matter is not for you, please stop here. The title of this story is taken from a traditional song which has been beautifully recorded by Andreas Scholl. Thank you for reading.
> 
> Special thanks to Dawny and Never for your beta services and encouragement, it would not have been the same without you. Thanks to all the TSA, you are all so supportive. You have no idea just how grateful I am.
> 
> This story is dedicated to Sandy, who asked me to write a slash story set on a beach, and this is what she got.
> 
> Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I am responsible for what I've done to her characters in this story.

When I come here it is easy to remember him. If I close my eyes until I'm squinting through narrow slits I can almost see him, ankle-deep in the waves. He is looking back over his shoulder and smiling at me. The soft light catches in his hair, golden reflections dancing. He holds out a hand, and I can't breathe. I want to go to him, so badly.

Two children and a dog run through the water, and their squeals and splashes distract me from my thoughts. I open my eyes and he is gone. I miss him with an ache so strong I can only pull in short breaths as I wrap my arms around tucked-up knees and rock gently forward and back as I fight to keep the tears from spilling over. I know if I weaken, if I let the pain out of the cage, I will be unable to stop. I will wail and scream and sob until the sun dies, the stars go out, the moon falls from the sky, and I would still have this grief like a stone around my neck. I cannot go on like this. It is a joke to think I come to remember him; the truth is I remember him too well. With every beat of my heart I miss him, every stone, every tree, every grain of sand reminds me of him. The pain lances up once more and I stifle a sob as the tears win, trailing silver rivers down my cheeks.

I lift my head, gazing blindly out to sea. There is a child with a dog standing next to me.

"Why you crying?"

Her voice is kind, her soft accent wrapping round the words and handing them to me like a gift. I force myself to breathe slowly.

"I miss my friend."

Such a brief explanation, so few words to try and explain the pain of half my heart being torn from me. I am an empty shell, a walking corpse. She looks at me and nods.

"Was he your best friend?"

"He was the best friend I've ever had. He was kind, and gentle, and fierce, and strong. He was funny and silly and loving. He was so much fun. The time I had with him was the happiest I have ever been."

I pause and glance at her, briefly wondering where her parents are and if they'd be worried to see her talking to a strange man who clearly is not in full possession of his mental faculties.

"Where has he gone? You could go too and then you'd be happy."

Her words resonate oddly inside my chest. She has no idea how close I have come to following him. The long sleep would be an end to this pain, the grief and the guilt gnawing at me every day. She is looking at me expectantly.

"He died."

My voice sounds flat. I cannot tell a young child of the months of sadness, where nothing I said or did could help. I cannot tell her how his lively smile had been buried under the weight of days, how I begged and pleaded with him to show me how to make it better. I cannot tell her how I would wrap my arms around his shoulders and know that he was still falling away from me, sinking deeper into the dark and I had no way to pull him back. I cannot tell her of the nights of tears and panic, when his terrified eyes burned into mine as he sobbed and shook and clung to me. I cannot tell her of the days I spent cooking all his favourite meals, trying in vain to make him eat because watching the flesh melting from his bones cut me to the quick. I cannot tell her of the horror of all the mornings I woke up alone, when I would run outside and down to the sea, catching his cold hands and leading him out of the surf. I cannot tell her of that last awful morning when I slept too long, how when I reached the sea he was not there. I cannot tell her how I ran from one cliff to the other, screaming his name and frantically looking out to sea. I cannot tell her of the coastguards and lifeboats that spent hours searching while I sat on the sand and prayed to a god I had never believed in. I cannot tell her of the agony when the policewoman held my hand and told me they'd found him washed up two miles down the coast. I cannot tell her how I had to identify his body, his skin waxy and cold. He was wearing the shirt I'd loved best, the one I always made him wear when I wanted to show him off, the one that made everyone who saw him seethe with jealousy. I cannot tell her how the pieces of my heart finally broke apart when a postcard came through the letter box with the message: "It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I love you." I cannot tell her how I had sagged against the door and slid to the floor as I cried and wished for the chance to go back, that I'd set my alarm, that I'd heard his footsteps as he'd left me for the last time.

The child is looking at me. How long have I been staring at the water while my mind replays those last, awful days and months? She pulls on the dog's collar and drags the animal closer to me.

"Stroke him," she instructs me. "You'll feel better."

I look at her, bemused. Impatient, she grabs at my hand and moves it over the soft fur on top of the animal's head. The dog has a thick, short coat, soft on his head and coarser over his neck and back. As I gently slide a silken ear between my fingers the knot in my throat eases slightly.

The girl is watching me with approval. "Told you it would help. He's a good dog, isn't he? You shouldn't be sad any more."

I manage a small smile. A whistle pierces the air, the dog breaks from under my hand and dashes away across the sand. I watch him, easy athletic strides eating the distance. He is heading for a couple. The man has a small boy perched on his shoulders. The woman is waving; I can see she is calling but I can't hear her from this distance.

"That's my mum and dad. I have to go now. Will you be okay?"

I look at her, straighten my back, and nod. "I'll be fine. Thank you."

She tilts her head, scrutinising me. "You should think of happy things. Your friend wouldn't want you to be sad."

She lunges forward and throws her arms around my neck in a hard hug. Before I can respond, she's off, running to her parents in the inefficient way children do. Her mother bends forward and spreads her arms wide, catching her and swinging her up and around in a big circle before setting her down. I can see she's talking, and then the family all turn and wave to me. I raise a hand in reply and watch as they walk away, the dog running in circles around them.

I ponder her last words. She is right, Edward would not have wanted me to be sad. We had a wealth of happy memories before the end. This beach was one of our favourite places. He loved exploring the small caves and poking around in rock pools. I can still see his childish grin when he played with sea anemones.

* * *

"How have you not done this before?" I teased. "You must have had a deprived childhood."

"Evidently so, all those educational trips to historical landmarks were such a waste, huh?"

He poked another anemone, giggling as the tentacles clung to his fingertip. I watched his hand as he slowly pulled back, stretching the anemone's reach before it reluctantly released him. He wiggled his fingers in the water, winding a thin piece of seaweed round them; the bright green a startling contrast to his pale skin. He gently untangled himself and poked around the edges of the pool. Suddenly he yelped and yanked his hand back, showering me with drops of salty water as I saw a tiny crab scuttle from one side of the rock pool to the other, disappearing under a small overhang.

"It bit me!" Edward's face was a picture, all shock and hurt.

"Aww, there, there, poor sweetheart." I couldn't keep the giggle and the teasing tone out of my voice, and he turned away from me with an indignant huff, his shoulders sagging.

Rolling my eyes at his over-dramatic tendencies, I climbed to my feet and scrambled over the rocks until I was looking up at his face. His forehead was creased with the slight upset, and his lips were pursed out slightly. He still refused to look at me, playing the injured martyr for all it was worth. I reached out and took the damaged hand, gently unfolding his long, slender fingers. There was a small red mark on the pad of his index finger, and I brought it up to my lips, kissing it gently, darting out my tongue and tasting the unmistakable saltiness of the sea. I kissed from the tip of his finger down to his palm, then turned his hand over and kissed the other side of his finger from the knuckle to the nail.

"There. All better." I looked up with a smile to find his gaze fixed on me, his expression tense.

"The others feel left out now, though." He wiggled his fingers.

"Well, that's easily rectified," I said, taking hold of both his wrists in one hand.

I trailed a hand down from his wrists, over his palms and flattening out his fingers towards me. I kissed every part of his hands, softly stroking them at the same time. I took each finger carefully into my mouth, sucking gently and kissing each one before I moved to the next. I placed one last kiss on the injured finger.

"There, all better now."

"The rest of me feels left out now, though." His eyes bored into mine, trapping my gaze as he reached out and pulled me up to him. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed a hand on his back, pulling us closer together as his lips found mine. We kissed each other frantically, lips pushing hard together as hands slid up and down and slipped under shirts as we sought the feel of each other's skin against our own. We broke apart, panting. I clambered away across the rocks, heading for the space that Edward always referred to as the hidey-hole. A couple of large rocks had fallen together, forming a three-sided room against the cliff. We would not be entirely hidden here, but at least we were no longer in direct view of everyone else on the beach. I could hear Edward hot on my heels as I scrambled into the space, and then his hands were tugging at my shirt, pulling it over my head as I fumbled with his buttons. Finally we were free and we fell together once more. I threw my head back, loving the feel of his soft, warm lips and the scratch of his chin as he kissed down the side of my neck and over my collarbone.

I groaned as he kissed his way down my chest and over my belly, his hands exploring my shoulders and on down to my hips. He moved back up over me and I looked up into his eyes, the sunlight glinting in his hair. He smiled at me and kissed me, long, slow, and gentle. I could feel his love for me and mine for him in the air around us, in the rocks and sand below, the sky above and in the vastness of the sea. We held each other close for a moment as we whispered what the sea and the sky already knew. We stroked and kissed and pushed at each other until hands found themselves exploring past button flies and under waistbands. My fingers wrapped around him, and I stroked and squeezed as his hips bucked towards me. His cool fingers held me tight and he gripped and stroked as I moved under him. We pressed closer together, holding tighter and moving faster and breathing harder. I felt him drawing nearer and nearer the edge and I followed him closer and closer until first he and then I fell over it, gasping and shuddering and collapsing boneless together. We held each other and giggled like teenagers. We had nothing to clean ourselves with, so Edward decided the sea would have to do it for us. We stripped off until we were dressed only in our pants, with the tell-tale damp patches clear evidence of our activities.

"We'll have to run for it," he said, and took off, bounding over the rocks and breaking into a sprint as soon as he hit sand. I watched him run, the sun glorious on his skin and blinding when he ran headlong into the sea and dived forward without slowing down. He loved swimming and I loved watching him. He waded back into the shallows as I jogged over.

"You won't get clean if you only go in up to your ankles," he stated, wrapping his arms round my thighs and heading for deeper water. I shrieked and laughed and fought with him in vain.

"Let me go!"

At that he complied, hoisting me into the air. I revelled in my victory for a fleeting second before I hit the water and the waves closed over my head. I surfaced, spluttering, and he was standing in the sunlight laughing.

We spent the rest of that day swimming and splashing each other. We walked home in rolled-up jeans and bare feet, carrying our shirts and shoes, arms wrapped around each other.

* * *

I smile, remembering the simple joy of that day, and so many others like it. It hurts that he is gone, but I should not allow the grief and the guilt to hound me into the grave after him. I loved him, I love him still, but he is gone, and I will learn to let him go. I will hold on to the good things and remember the silly and beautiful man I loved.

The tide has started to go out again. I walk along the wet sand and peer into a rock pool. I poke a sea anemone and laugh as it grips my finger.


	2. Chapter 2

"Come on, Jasper, it'll be fun." Alice is kind, but insistent. "We don't need to stay out all night or anything; just go with Bella to the match, have a drink or two, and then leave."

Her expression belies her tone. I can see that she doesn't really expect me to say yes. I wonder idly how many similar occasions have passed me by; quick rejections answering every entreaty to leave the house. Maybe I should go.

"Okay."

Her eyes widen in sudden surprise, and she wraps me in a hard hug before making plans.

"Bella's driving, she was going to pick me up from mine, but it'll be easier if I just come round to yours first and she can pick us both up from here. I'll be round about half one and she'll pick us up about then too; kick-off's at two so we won't be standing about in the cold too long before stuff starts happening."

I nod, not really paying attention. It doesn't really matter anyway, Alice will steer me whether I know what's coming next or not.

**:::::**

I watch the clock nervously. Hands edge round, inexorable. As the minute hand drops I feel panic rising. I pace the kitchen floor. Four steps from the door to the sink, turn, look at the clock, three steps behind the table, turn, look at the clock, three steps to the sink, turn, clock, four steps, door, turn, four, sink, turn, clock, three, table, turn, clock, three, sink, turn, clock and the doorbell rings. I freeze, and Alice lets herself in.

She takes one look at my face and reaches out for my hands. She guides me to a chair and forces me to look her in the eye. There is no need for her to even ask, the question is clear to see in her expression.

"I don't know if I can do this. It just feels wrong." My voice sounds shaky. How can I explain this feeling? "I can't just go out, as if he was never here."

She looks down, and exhales in a long sigh that makes her look like she's deflating. For a second I catch a glimpse of my own grief reflected in her face, but it is swiftly smothered and replaced by a steely resolve.

"No, you can't go out as if he was never here. He was here, and you loved him, and I loved him, but he is not coming back. You can't stay in this house for the rest of your life, I won't let you. I won't lose you too."

Her voice cracks and I can see into her soul. I can see narrow fissures running deep, threading their way through her, patterns carved into the fibre of her being. If her grief looks like this, mine must be formed of gaping chasms; pillars of myself standing alone in the dark while the pain flows around them. We reach blindly towards each other, holding on tight to stop ourselves being washed away. We rock while the waves of grief break against us once more, until at last they ebb away and we can stand alone. Alice wipes at her eyes and I try to regulate my breathing. As we regain control the sound of a car horn filters through my consciousness. Alice hands me my coat and we go out to meet Bella, whose impatient expression fades as she looks at us. She doesn't say a word; just puts the car into gear and drives us all away.

**:::::**

The ground is small, just the pitch, the clubhouse, and one narrow bench set a little too far away from the touch line to be useful for spectating. We have arrived just in time; the ball sailing up through the air as we choose a spot a few feet from the pitch. I've never really gone to watch sport before. Not like this, anyway. Cheering Edward at swimming galas and the occasional triathlon seems very far removed from standing here in the cold, watching thirty grown men knocking each other to the floor.

A man races past and I am struck by the sheer proximity of him. I can feel the ground shake as he dashes forward. No, it's not similar in the least. At a gala I could watch Edward's whole body cutting through the water like he was born to do it, but the distance always made you know you were watching, not taking part. Here, now, I can't just see, I can feel. I can feel the warmth rolling off the men as they pass us; I can feel the vibrations as heavy tackles crash to earth. The air is thick with the scents of bruised grass, mud, and sweat. I can almost taste the saltiness as I watch a player wipe his perspiring face across his sleeve. I can hear the grunts of exertion as the ball is put in to a scrum.

There are not many clear sounds at a gala. I could only hear the roaring of echoed conversation followed by a brief moment of silence and the sharp crack of the gun. A row of bodies rose and fell in a graceful curve before they hit the water, torpedoes slicing down and racing forwards, and already Edward was ahead. As they surfaced I watched his shoulders rolling as he threw each arm forward, cutting in and pushing the water aside. I watched him make the turn, now at least a body length ahead of the others. He never considered easing up; still pushed, pushed, and demanded every last morsel of speed from his body. When he neared the finish, time slowed down. I saw his arm stretched forward, long fingers reaching for the wall. He won the race easily, but when the times were called, he had broken the club record as well. I could see the terrible look of triumph in his eyes as he jumped up, arms raised. Water had cascaded down his body, and I was transfixed as he roared out his victory. He had scanned the crowd, searching me out. When he met my eyes his face had broken into that enormous boyish grin, eyes wide as he pointed at himself with an incredulous look and a shrug. He had leapt out of the pool with fluid grace and stood there in all his physical glory, droplets glittering on his skin and running down lean thighs and over hard calf muscles. He'd blown me a kiss before turning on his heel and disappearing into the changing rooms. There had been a few scandalised looks from the other spectators, presumably horrified either that he wasn't single or that he was gay. We had had a celebration that night: dinner out and a long night in. He had tasted of chlorine, victory, and happiness.

I am brought back to the present as Bella screeches in my ear. A giant of a man has the ball and is hurtling down the field; he sees the opposition closing in and he pushes forward, pushing and demanding every ounce of power from himself. He is tackled on the try line and falls heavily; all his strength focussed on stretching the hand with the ball forward, stretching and reaching until it hammers down and the whistle pierces the air. He rises up from the earth, head thrown back and fists clenched as he yells. His team-mates clap him on the back and the opposing team slink away from the scene of their failure.

As he turns to wave at the small gathering of onlookers we make eye contact. The look of triumphant joy in his eyes is too familiar and too different. His eyes are all wrong, his hair, his body, this situation; it's all wrong. He should not be able to make me think of Edward, but as I look into this man's dark eyes all I can see is shining green and water everywhere. I can't bear it, and hastily turn to watch Bella instead as she leaps and shouts and frantically waves. Bella is safe, there is no danger of her girlish enthusiasm making me think of anything but her. Alice looks up at me and smiles sadly even as she joins Bella in her wild congratulations.

It is a good game, with "our" side scoring three more tries and the opposition putting up just enough of a fight to keep it interesting. We retreat to the warmth of the local pub to celebrate the win; Alice pushes a pint into my hand and I clutch it like a lifebelt as a flood of noisy men pours through the door. Bella jumps up at one of the biggest; as he hugs her and laughs I recognise him as the first try-scorer, the one with the eyes that were so wrong and so familiar. He walks over to us as Bella chatters at him and greets Alice with another hug – he dwarfs her completely, and I feel a stab of irrational panic. He releases her and turns to me with a friendly smile and outstretched hand. I learn that his name is Jake, and he's Bella's brother.

We sit at a table in the corner, the girls chatting with Jake and various other members of the team who float by. Jake is not the brute that I feared from watching him play, he is sociable and entertaining, regaling the girls with tales of previous matches. The panic slowly subsides as his deep voice rumbles on, punctuated by the shrill laughter of the girls. I let the sound of their conversation wash over me as I look at the table and slowly drink my beer. Alice is true to her word, and we get up to leave after finishing that first drink. Bella has had considerably more, having plainly forgotten that she's supposed to be driving this evening, so Jake offers to drive us home.

"Oh, we can't let you do that, you should be here celebrating your win!" Alice looks uncomfortable at the thought of prising him away.

"It's no big deal," Jake replies. "We're playing again in a couple of weeks, the lads will get on fine without me."

I'm not convinced. Still, letting him drive is an easy solution to the problem for us, so we let him shoo us out of the pub and into Bella's car. He looks incongruous crammed behind the wheel of the little vehicle, and I am reminded again of just how big he is. He's not just tall, he's broad as well; his shoulders wider than the seats.

The girls are crowded into the car, filling up the small space with chatter and laughter. I huddle next to Alice in the back seat, legs folded up behind the passenger seat. Alice is the perfect size; even with Jake's long legs forcing his seat back she still has a couple of inches of leg room. My knees are pressed into the back of Bella's seat, and I can feel every tiny movement she makes. She waves her hands animatedly and talks nonstop as Jake drives us away. He is laughing good-naturedly as Bella teases him about a missed tackle.

"Yeah, alright, I looked ridiculous," he concedes. "But that guy is incredible, no-one should be able to accelerate that fast."

"He wasn't that fast, he just out-manoeuvred you, you big oaf," Bella laughs.

"And it cost you a try, too," Alice chimes in.

"Hey, come on, no bullying the driver. Jasper, back me up against this pair of witches." Jake half turns in his seat, trying to look at me out of the corner of his eye. For a moment I am pinned to the seat like a butterfly on display, but he looks back at the road and I can think again.

"I don't think they're being fair," I decide. "It wasn't just you that conceded that try, and you got a faceful of mud as your punishment. Aside from that, you scored two tries yourself anyway, so surely that makes up for it."

Jake beams. "See, I knew you'd back me up." He mock-scowls at Bella. "Shut it, you, you're officially unfair."

She laughs, and moves the conversation away from the game. The warm flow of their voices wraps around me and I relax into my seat, resting my head against the window. My eyes follow the trails of cat's eyes and and count the lamp posts as we drive into and out of the pools of light surrounding each one.

We are twisting through a maze of residential streets and the moments of darkness between the street lights lengthen as Jake slows us down and eases past parked cars. We lose the girls; Alice holding Bella up as they weave up the path and through Bella's front door. I move into the front of the car, grateful for the extra space as I stretch my cramped legs. The car is unnaturally quiet as we pull away and I give Jake directions to my house. The silence grows. Jake's hands are loose on the wheel as he steers us ever closer to home. He looks relaxed, contented. I am wound tight, the unaccustomed social outing has weighed me down until I can almost feel myself vibrating with anxiety. I feel the hum of the engine rocking through my seat, up my spine and wrapping around my lungs. I cannot get enough air; my breathing is shallow and fast as I turn to stare sightlessly out of the window so he can't see my distress.

When my house looms into view, I manage to convey the fact to Jake. I speak to him in one rapid rush, the words tumbling heedless from my lips before I dam the flow with a deep intake of breath. I can feel Jake's concerned eyes on me, but thankfully he says nothing. We stop, and I bolt out of the car and up the path. My hands are shaking; I am fumbling with the key until a big, warm hand closes around mine.

"Let me," he says, and takes the key from me. He unlocks the door, pushes it open, and ushers me inside. He follows me into the kitchen; stands leaning on the door frame as I pace between the sink and the table. I must be taking shorter strides. It's four steps between them now.

I stop, turn, and look at him. I want to tell him what's wrong with me, how I've hardly been out of the house for weeks. I want to tell him that I am broken inside, that Edward took the best of me with him, that all that is left is a husk of nerves and grief. I want to tell him that there is only a tiny seed of the real me left hidden deep inside, and the only time I've seen it since he died was when a child, a stranger, spoke to me and told me not to be sad any more. I have tried, God knows how I have tried, to grow that seed and regain my old self. I have only managed to cope when I've been on my own, when I can think of Edward and smile. With other people the difference is just too obvious, they are so happy and carefree, and I am missing half of myself. I want to tell him all these things, and I don't know why.

We look at each other for a long heartbeat. He comes over cautiously, as if he's trying to get near to a cornered or frightened animal. He reaches out and his hand is once more warm against my own as he guides me to a chair and gently presses me down into it. I watch him as he turns away and looks speculatively at my cupboards. He opens a few until he's found what he's looking for and wanders around the kitchen as he waits for the kettle to boil; inspecting the cookery books and laughing quietly at Edward's comedy calendar. He makes tea and sets one mug on the table in front of me.

"Edward would have gone spare at you for not using a coaster," I say, without thinking.

He looks at me with a soft expression. "Do you mind?"

"No, not really." I thread my fingers through the mug handle and stare at the tea as steam rises into my face. Jake lowers himself into Edward's chair and slowly drinks his tea as he talks to me. I don't really listen, but his voice is deep, brown, and soothing. He fills the quiet room with talk about rugby, and Bella, and how he loves to cook. He talks about entering his cakes in the village fête cake competition and how all the other competitors were elderly ladies who flocked around him and gave him consolation cakes when he lost. He talks about how he and Bella grew up with their dad because their mother died when they were children. As he talks I feel myself relaxing again, leaning back in my chair and holding my mug in both hands.

I watch him as he talks. His long legs are stretched out under the table, his mug of tea swamped as he holds it in one hand. His expression is gentle as he speaks of his mother and how she used to make cakes and he and Bella would fight over who got to lick the bowl. I envy him, that he can speak of someone he has loved and lost like this. He drains the last of his tea and sits up, looking right at me.

"I'm going to go home now. It was good to meet you, Jasper."

"Thank you." I think he knows that I'm not just talking about the tea.

I follow him to the door and he shakes my hand, folding his fingers around mine for a fourth time.

"See you again sometime. Take care." It sounds like both a hope and an instruction. I watch the lights of the little car until they disappear around the corner before I shut the door.

I go back into the kitchen to tidy up, but the sight of the two mugs on the table without coasters stops me. I look at Edward's chair, pulled out at an angle where Jake left it. No. It's not Edward's chair any more. It's just a chair. I smile, thinking of how cross he'd be at the potential damage to the table from the hot mugs. I decide to leave it all for the morning, turn out the lights and go to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Alice opens the door, and ushers me inside, all bubbly cheerfulness. Bella and Jake are already here; I can hear her laughter and his deep rumbling voice coming from the living room. I am suddenly rooted to the spot, terrified.

I can see Alice starting to get that mother hen expression, but even as she opens her mouth to say something, Jake appears in the doorway, a smile on his face.

He's bigger than I remembered. Or maybe it's just Alice's tiny house, every space cluttered with pictures, books, and various mysterious objects she's picked up on her travels. He's such a big man, broad, and filling the door frame so I can hardly see Bella's small face peering round him. I can't tear my eyes from him, remembering his kind voice and his warm hands. He breaks me out of my transfixed staring.

"Hi, Jasper." His voice is low and warm, and I can feel it vibrating along the floor and up into my stomach. "Good to see you again."

He holds out a hand, and I let out a snort of laughter that comes from nowhere. He turns his head to one side, a quizzical expression on his face.

"I always seem to be holding your hand," I explain, remembering the innumerable handshakes and his rescuing of me on the doorstep.

He laughs, and steps toward me. "Better make it a man-hug instead, then."

I don't have time to react before his arms are around me, enveloping me in soft warmth. I'm almost giddy from the contact. I've not been this close to any man since before Edward, and in the last desperate months he would never offer any sort of contact, barely even speaking. I put my arms tentatively around Jake, and squeeze. His arms tighten in response, and I close my eyes for a brief moment before he's gone, all too soon. We break apart, and he wanders away into the kitchen, leaving me to greet Bella, my mind preoccupied.

All evening I watch the three of them. Again and again my eyes are drawn back to Jake. We watch a ridiculous comedy film and his eyes crinkle at the corners as his laughter echoes around us. When the movie ends the girls chatter and we listen, Jake occasionally joining in. They drag me into the conversation, and I manage to keep my eyes away from Jake for several minutes, until a loud snore cuts through the air. Bella claps her hands over her mouth to stop herself laughing, and we all three look at him. He's slumped sideways, head lolling against threadbare cushions. He looks so relaxed, even though he barely fits on the sofa. He looks almost cherubic; innocent and peaceful, despite his bulk and the scruffy stubble over his chin. Alice puts a finger to her lips, and disappears upstairs as Bella and I stand in the middle of the room and watch Jake. She reappears carrying a blanket, and tucks it under his feet as I wrap it round his shoulders, and Bella berates us in a whisper for being so soft on her big brother, her fond smile giving the lie to her tone.

As I tuck a corner under his arm, he wriggles slightly, clutching at the blanket and half-turning on to his side. I watch him for half a heartbeat, and he's smiling in his sleep; a soft, gentle smile that commands a mirroring smile from my own lips. Alice takes my hand and pulls me upstairs to the spare room, hugging me goodnight and promising a cooked breakfast in the morning.

I undress slowly, my thoughts elsewhere. The last time I slept in this house, Edward was with me. It had been very close to the end, then. He had been withdrawn, detached, despite Alice's best efforts to engage him in something, anything. Looking back, I wonder if I'd given up hope of his ever recovering. I climb into the big, empty bed. The sheets are cold and smooth, and smell clean and fresh. I curl up as small as I can, trying to warm the space. The old house has tired windows, the wind pushing its way past the glass, gently moving the curtains and creeping across the floor. The piles of blankets on the bed stop the draughts getting too me, and slowly my cocoon starts to thaw. I think of my Edward; how he would curl up like this to try and heat up a cold bed. He would cling to me like a limpet, burrowing his face into my neck as icy fingers wrapped round my back. I was warm in those days. Now, it feels that Edward's cold has seeped through into me, and I'm never warm enough.

I think of Jake, his kind hands. How his strong arms had held me close, and I'd pressed mine into his back, trying to push us closer together, trying to feel more, trying to find that lost contact. He hadn't felt like Edward. Edward had been lean, hard, and in the end, brittle. I'd been afraid to hold him too close, afraid he'd break. He was already broken, of course.

It would take a lot to break Jake. He is broad, and soft, but powerful. I could feel his strength when he clasped my hands, when he wrapped his arms around me, when he saw my pain and offered his comfort.

I drift into sleep, curled around confused memories. I dream of delicate fingers and broad hands, lean calves and heavy thighs, sparkling smiles and easy grins. I dream of holding and being held, of loving and being loved. I dream of touching and kissing and laughing and happiness. I dream of my greatest love, my one, my all. I dream of my new friend, his steady confidence and easy companionship.

I wake with the sun on my face, sneaking past the gap between the curtains and making me smile before I open my eyes. I lie in the bed and look at the ceiling, the whole room softly lit with the morning sunshine, white walls and white sheets, and the bright contrast of patchwork blankets. The house is quiet. I wash, and dress, and pad downstairs in bare feet, careful not to make too much noise for fear of waking the others. I creep past the living room and see Jake still on the sofa, now lying on his front, face pushed into a cushion and one heavy arm dangling over the edge. I smile at his sleeping form and walk away. I make tea as quietly as I can, and ease the back door open. Alice's house is further inland than mine, and I can't hear the sea, although the air still has the telltale saltiness about it. I wander around her garden, leaning down to watch a spider climbing laboriously from stem to stem, trailing shining thread behind it. The winter sun is bright but weak, and I am cold. The short grass prickles my feet as I retreat towards the house once more. I reclaim my tea and stand at the window, watching the birds until Alice breezes in, all smiles and cheeriness.

She chatters like one of the birds and whisks about the kitchen, rattling crockery and assembling a breakfast to feed the five thousand. Bella joins us as the glorious smells of fresh coffee and bacon fill the air. Alice is buttering toast and frying eggs when Jake appears. He is still wearing last night's t-shirt, the same one he slept in, and his face is patterned from being pressed into the cushions. His eyes are still half-closed with sleep, but his smile is friendly as always.

**:::::**

I stand outside the door, trying to find the courage to knock. I wrap my arms around myself and rock from one foot to another, staring at the floor. A sudden rush of bravery, and I rap my knuckles on the door too loud, too fast, once, twice, three times. Silence. An agony of waiting until I hear Jake telling me to come in, his voice muffled by distance and the door. I tentatively push the door open and step inside. I can hear a clattering of utensils and Jake singing to himself. I walk into the kitchen and he's there, a big bowl under one arm as he quickly stirs a mixture round and round. He's making a birthday cake for a friend, he says. She's one of his elderly cake-baking competition opponents, so he has to make it perfectly.

"Seriously, Angela will never let me hear the last of it if it's not good. You know the little tea shop in town? She runs it, and makes all the cakes herself, and all the other old biddies go in to inspect her work. If I make her a substandard cake it will get round them all within two days and they'll be unbearable at the next competition."

He tells me to help myself to a drink, but warns me not to touch anything on the side. He's got bowls, utensils, and pre-weighed ingredients all laid out so neatly it looks like he's preparing to go into battle.

"I have to get everything ready first, I can't help myself. It's being brought up on Delia Smith that does it." He laughs, and I join him. We talk about cooking, and cakes, and recipes. We talk about anything, nothing, and everything. It's so easy. He talks and I listen, and I talk and he's listening. We talk about his rugby team, and I complain about the cold when I watch him play, and how cheering for Edward swimming was so much warmer. He goes quiet, thoughtful, and I wonder what he's thinking.

"He swam? I don't really know much about Edward. Tell me about him?" He looks at me questioningly, unsure if it's okay to ask me.

I can't think, for a minute. I want to tell him the good things, to show off Edward, to prove how kind and funny and loving he was. All I can think of are the bad things, the silences, the panic, the way his skin was waxy and stiff when I saw him in the morgue.

"It's alright. You don't have to answer. I'm sorry." He really is sorry, I can see it in his face. He turns away from me and starts on the washing up.

"No, don't worry." My voice is quiet. "It's just that it's hard to remember everything. I can only think of what he was like most recently, and I don't want to. I want to remember our first date, our first kiss, our first... everything. The last ones are the ones that I can think of most easily, but I don't want to."

The room is quiet; the only sounds the hum of the oven and the gentle splashing from Jake at the sink.

I talk about the first time I'd met Edward. How he'd been playing the ratty old piano in my local pub, coaxing sweetness from its tired keys. I'd been mesmerised, walking slowly across the room without realising what I was doing until I was standing beside the instrument, watching his hands dance. I talk about how he'd looked up, flashed a wicked grin and told me that if I was going to stand there I had to accompany him, and we'd sung together until the barman called last orders.

I talk about how his singing had become more and more infrequent, until eventually even the piano fell silent. I talk about leaving Edward and coming back hours later to find him in the same position, still staring into space. I talk about waking to find our bed cold and empty, and searching until I found him again, in the house, the garden, the road, and more and more often, standing in the sea. He'd stand in the same place regardless of the tide; sometimes the water would be so far away you could hardly see it, and other times he'd been staggering as the waves broke on his legs. Thinking about that makes me think of how I lost him, how I failed him, and the tears start to fall in earnest.

Jake's voice is quiet, soothing. He tells me that it's okay to cry, that that's just part of grief and healing. He tells me that my guilt is unfounded, but he understands why I feel it all the same. He gives me an assignment.

"Your mission, for me. I want to know about Edward. Tell me three things about him, three reasons why you love him this much. Have a think about it."

Three things? Three reasons to love Edward. That surely can't be hard. I tell him I will, that I can definitely think of three.

His rugby-player persona rises to the surface for a minute. "Three things, but spare me the gory details, eh? I don't need to know anything too... personal, if you know what I mean." He has that mischievous glint in his eyes that he normally uses when teasing Bella, and I chuckle, embarrassed. He joins me, and our laughter mingles, filling the room, and soothing the cracks in my soul.

**:::::**

Over the next couple of weeks, I try to think of three things. What did I love most about Edward? What didn't I love? I loved his silliness and his kindness. I loved his beauty, and his charm. That man could sweet-talk the birds from the trees and the stars from the sky if he put his mind to it.

I loved being close to him. I miss being close to him so much. We were always touching each other, whatever we were doing. When we were having dinner our legs would be tangled together underneath the table. When we were sleeping we'd be pressed up against each other, an arm draped over ribs and a knee resting between thighs. When we were having a night in on the sofa we'd be leaning against each other, holding hands more often than not.

I remember one evening, watching a film, and Edward had slumped across the sofa and had his head on my chest, his body resting between my legs. He'd fallen asleep and I watched most of the film on my own, my fingers combing through his hair absent-mindedly. I let the credits roll right to the end before I had the heart to wake him. I'd kissed his forehead and he'd smiled before he'd woken up. I miss his smiles. He'd opened his eyes slowly, blinking quickly even though the room was dark, only the TV screen casting a dim light. He'd looked at me and smiled some more, and half-turned where he lay, rubbing his body against mine as I held him closer. I'd pushed one foot over his leg, and pressed down and pushed up and we'd both felt our hearts beating more quickly as he stretched up and we kissed, long and slow. He'd drifted a hand up my side, the gentle touch maddening as I wanted so much more of him. His smile had stretched a little wider, and he'd undone my shirt slowly, oh so slowly. He'd trailed a fingertip down the centre of my chest until he reached the next button, leaned in and kissed my skin as he exposed it, one button at a time. He'd wriggled down until he reached the last button. Then he'd carried on down, doing the same thing with the button flies of my jeans. He'd kissed me and looked up and smiled that same smile over and over again until all I could do was beg him for more.

He let me have more, but so slowly until I was half demented with lust and love. Eventually he'd worked us both free of our clothes and the longed-for skin contact was there, from head to toe. He'd rubbed us together, hips moving gently, slowly, our fingers laced together, stretched up above my head. We had moved together forever, until we were both undone in the sweetest way possible, slowly, gently, almost silently, but with so much love. We'd wrapped our arms around each other and laughed softly. That was the first time that I really think we'd made love. I thought we had done before, but they had just been expressing love, I think. That time, we'd made more love between us, we'd created it and shared it, and it was wonderful.

So, yes. That would be one thing I could say that I loved about my Edward. I loved his love for me and mine for him and the way our bodies could sing for each other.


	4. Chapter 4

The house is strange when it's just got me in it. I am still not used to being on my own, the creaks and groans of floorboards sending shivers down my spine as adrenaline spikes with fear. It's not just the noises, though. It's claustrophobic. Everywhere I look, there's Edward, but he's not here. I can see him in the careful arrangement of furniture, the books on the shelves, his painstakingly compiled playlists in our shared ipod. I can't even look at his piano. I don't go in that room at all; the instrument looks like an open coffin with the lid opened wide and his music still on the rest above the keys.

I can't bear being alone in the too-quiet house for too long, and find myself walking outside for hours at a time. My hands in my coat pockets, my shoulders hunched against the chill wind, I wander around town, glancing into shop windows but never going inside. I walk past a pub just as someone opens the door, and a rush of warm air hits me. I can smell cheap burgers and stale beer and hear the raucous laughter of too many people drinking too much, too early. I keep on walking.

I leave the market square, and there's a small crowd of men heading in the same direction on the other side of the road. They are behind me, but steadily gaining as their enthusiastic steps eat up the distance. Their conversation drifts over to me, and my eyes lift from the pavement at the sound of one particular voice. My feet stop as my head turns, and Jake is waving to me. The whole crowd envelops me and I'm carried away with them, swept into their chatter. I realise that they're most of Jake's rugby squad, and they should be at training, but their coach is unwell and has told them to do it themselves. The genial team captain, Sam, has decreed that they can move the session down on to the beach and have a bit of fun. I find myself enjoying their company, and laugh along at their childish jokes. Surrounded by people, my shoulders relax and my stride loosens as I settle into their easy pace. It's the most natural thing in the world to stroll on down with them, scrambling over the dunes and on to the sand.

They are clearly not planning to do any real training, as there's only the one ball. It soon gets thrown, and then they're all off and running, and I'm with them. The ball flies along and our feet scatter the sand in all directions. A pile of coats and jumpers forms on top of a rock, and we pass the ball in circles around it. We start to play an informal game, people loosely forming into teams. One of the younger lads takes the ball and revels in his own fitness as he dances around some of the other guys who are in the team because they always have been rather than because they're good enough. He sidesteps twice and takes off running straight towards me, presumably thinking of me as a soft touch. My lips press together and I determine to put a stop to his showboating. He makes a poor dummy pass and feint, and finds himself right by me rather than putting me on the wrong foot. My weight is in the right place where his is not, and with the gentlest of touches he's on the floor and I have the ball. I don't even run, just stand there as his disbelieving eyes look at me from my feet. The whole squad is laughing, and I offer him my hand, grinning.

He takes it and I pull him to his feet. He introduces himself as Matt, but everyone shouts him down and claims that there are too many Matthews in the team already, and thus he's known only by his surname. So, he's Riley. He becomes my shadow until my inferior fitness starts to tell, and I go and join the coats on the rock and watch them play. Periodically they shout for my opinion, and I enjoy making the decisions, even when the transgressing side complains. I even call a foul against Jake, and he smiles at me with his twinkling eyes and complains that I've betrayed him.

Eventually the boys have had enough, and the group disperses. There's only five or so people left, and the sun is melting into the sea when I realise where I am and what I'm doing. My stomach lurches as I suddenly find that I've spent several hours enjoying myself, and not just that, I've been enjoying myself here. This is my place with Edward, and I feel like a traitor. I stare at the water, orange and pink reflections beautiful. I barely notice as the last of the guys leave, and Jake is the only one remaining. He looks at me, waiting, but I can't bring myself to explain. Thankfully, he doesn't ask, just pushes my coat at me and tells me it's hometime.

**:::::**

_I feel like an idiot for writing to you. Mind you, you always did say I was your own personal brand of ridiculous, so maybe it doesn't matter that you're never going to read this._

_I went down to the beach today. I went with a big group of silly boys, and I had a nice time. I had fun, and they let me join in with their not-really rugby training. I put one cocky lad flat on his back, and I felt my old confidence come back a bit._

_I didn't notice that you were gone. I spent two whole hours on our beach, fooling around with boys, and I didn't think of you once. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so, so sorry. I realised too late, and Jake walked with me with that soft look in his eyes. I think he knew. He just kept talking and talking, until I could pretend to be alright._

_I don't know what you'd make of Jake. He's kind. You know how you always thought Bella was strong? It must be a family trait. I feel so much better, just being with him. It's not that he makes me forget about you, because he's so different. Where you were quiet, he's loud, where you were thin, he's all muscle. We've got into this pattern of always hugging. He always says "man-hug"; I don't know why just "hug" is never an option. Maybe he's trying to make sure that I don't feel threatened, or that he expects something from me. His hugs are almost as good as yours. Different, but good. You and I were equals: the same height, the same shape. He's so big, he dwarfs me. He makes me feel safe._

_Safe is something I could really do with right now. With you gone it's like there's an open wound in my heart that I have to protect all the time. If you were here you'd fill that hole and I'd be me again. Jake just stands in front of it and stops the bleeding for a while. He helps so much, but it's not the same as you. I wish you were still here. How could you go? How could you leave me?_

_I love you._

I write my name, fold the letter and slide it into an envelope. I don't seal it. I don't want to think about how I can't send it. If I don't seal it, it's not finished, and I don't have to face the fact that Edward can never receive this letter.

**:::::**

Alice demands that I come with her. She wants to make a winter garden, apparently, and says she can't lug bags of compost around on her own. I agree, but demand payment. She promises to provide me with sustenance, and so we go to the garden centre together. She wanders around, picking out pots and plants and chattering all the while. Occasionally I'm allowed to get a word in edgeways, and even to choose a plant or two.

After we've filled the car with her purchases, I drive us into town. Alice looks at me, confused.

"Why are we here? The plants are for me, you know, not some municipal planting effort."

"You promised me food. The plants can wait."

We wander down the high street, Alice dismissing all the big chain coffee shops.

"Let's go in here – anywhere called the Olde Bakery Tea Shoppe can't be a bad choice, surely? Tea and cake are the perfect post-shopping pick-me-up." Alice pushes through the door, a bell jangling as she does so. There are a few customers already seated, but still plenty of room. Alice chooses a table right in the middle of the bay window while I wrestle with the sticking door, the bell making an unholy din as I struggle to force it closed.

"Leave it, lovey, I'll get it." A plump, elderly woman bustles past and closes the door with one hand. She chuckles at my look of disbelief. "There's a knack to it. My boy Jacob can never shut it, either."

She waves me towards Alice and disappears while we drool over the menu and struggle to choose our cakes. While we wait for our selections to arrive, Alice chatters away, and we both laugh over her animated tales of the soap-opera that is her life at work. Apparently there's lots of intrigue, with various people pursuing each other in the most complicated ways possible. Everyone seems to confide in Alice, but she's sworn to secrecy so cannot tell them that their love is most certainly not unrequited, and if they'd just stop playing games then their lives would be so much easier.

"Maybe I should just betray them all – if they'd all just man up and talk to each other it would be fine," she muses, tracing the pattern of the lace tablecloth with one finger.

"No, you can't. Just hint that they should try talking. Hint a lot. Keep hinting." I chuckle, looking at Alice's frustrated expression. As her frown deepens, I laugh more.

She breaks out a wry smile. "Yeah, you're right. But, dammit, they're idiots! Meddling would solve so many problems." She sighs, then appears to put it all out of her mind, sitting up straight and turning a piercing gaze on to me. "You're alright though. It's good to see you looking cheerful again. I've missed your laugh. Missed you in general, actually."

I nod slowly, looking at the tablecloth. "It comes and goes. It's better when I'm not on my own. Being with you guys helps. It feels wrong though, sometimes." I don't continue speaking, though the words hiding behind my lips are almost out. I don't tell her I feel like I'm cheating on him if I'm happy without him.

She squeezes my hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it all up again. You're allowed to be happy, though."

I can't bring myself to reply, just nod again and keep my eyes fixed on the table as sudden tears threaten to spill over. Thankfully I'm prevented from letting my thoughts escape to Edward by the arrival of our tea. Alice is enchanted by the mismatched teacups. Why, I'm not sure. Surely cups are just cups? The elderly woman who spoke to me earlier pulls up a chair after setting our plates down, and looks expectantly at me, gesturing at my piece of cake.

"Let me know what you think. It's a friend's recipe, and I'm not sure whether or not to make it a regular."

She's leaning forward, eyes trained on me, so I have no choice but to pick up my fork and get stuck in while Alice tries to suppress her giggles.

It's a delicious cake, moist and gooey, with an earthy spiciness to it as well.

"It's seriously nice. It's more familiar than I expected though, I must have had it somewhere before."

She looks at me quizzically. "I doubt that, my dear, it's a secret family recipe. Not my family, mind you, I've just managed to take advantage of a friend."

"I'm sure I've had it before." I push my plate at Alice. "Here, you try."

Alice looks doubtfully at me before taking a bite. Her eyebrows knit together as she chews. "He's right, it IS familiar."

She taps a fingernail on the side of the plate before looking up, beaming. "I remember. We had this last time we were all over at Jake's. Maybe he's stolen the recipe too?"

"Could be." I look back at our host. "Who did you say your friend was?"

She laughs. "My young man, Jacob Black. Is he a friend of yours?"

The penny finally drops, and I remember Jake talking about his friend who owns the cake shop.

"Are you Angela?" She answers in the affirmative. "I can't believe I didn't realise before we came in. I'm Jasper, and this is Alice. We're friends of his; well, friends of his sister's first, but getting to know Jake too now."

She shakes my hand and launches into a narration of the Black family history. It turns out she was friends with Jake and Bella's mother, and is something of an honorary aunt as well as one of Jake's cake gurus.

"It's not all cake. Jacob is actually quite the chef, you know. You should get him to make you a proper dinner one day. Or a fancy cake with sugarcraft decorations. You wouldn't think such a big man would have such a delicate touch, but there we are."

She's smiling as she thinks about him, and I can feel an answering grin creeping across my own face. Jake can make me smile even when he's not here. Angela suddenly seems to realise that she's rambling.

"I must get on, I won't keep you. And of course you won't let on to Jacob that I told you all this, will you? It won't do to let him get a big head, even if he is quite talented."

She bustles away without waiting for an answer, leaving us slightly stunned by the quiet left by her absence.

Alice, as always, is the first to regain her usual chattiness. "I had no idea Jake was that good – he never shuts up about how inferior his cooking is. It's your birthday in a couple of months, isn't it? Maybe we should ask him to make you a birthday cake."

My insides lurch slightly at the thought of Jake making a whole cake, just for me, and spending hours perfecting decorations. "Yes. I'd like that."


	5. Chapter 5

"Jasper?" Alice sounds panicked. "We're not going out tonight. There's been an accident. Jake's in hospital."

Suddenly, it's hard to breathe. I sit down and watch my fingers shaking as I try to listen to Alice. She sounds a long way away, her voice drowned out by the blood thundering through my ears.

"We'll come and get you."

It seems like only seconds later when she's at my house, hammering on the front door.

Bella's driving, her knuckles white as she grips the steering wheel like a lifebelt. She looks too small in the driver's seat. We travel in silence, without even the radio to dissipate the tension.

Sam meets us at A&E, looking drawn and tired. He says Jake is in for X-rays, and Bella dashes away, Alice following her anxiously. I stay with Sam; we search for coffee, and wait.

Sam doesn't need too much encouragement to tell me what happened. I look at him, raise an eyebrow, and he starts talking. Apparently it was a ruck like any other, and Jake was underneath a heaving crowd of men.

"He must have had his studs jammed into the ground. Surely his foot would have just slipped otherwise, and he'd have been fine." Sam looks sick as he describes it, waving his hands helplessly. "There was a cracking noise - it sounded like a gunshot and everyone froze."

He says that everyone had slowly, carefully disentangled themselves from one another until there was just Jake left, lying face down in the mud with his left leg bent at an unnatural angle. It had taken a lifetime for the ambulance to arrive, and then another lifetime to get the broken leg strapped down and Jake on to a stretcher.

Sam snorts in sudden laughter. "At least we were all still there. The paramedics would never have managed to lift him into the ambulance on their own."

I wonder about whether or not ambulances have contraptions with which to move heavy patients, and the conversation moves into an engineering discussion of cranes, winches, and fulcrums. We both look and feel a little more human by the time the girls return, the anxiety pushed down and covered with a thin veneer of humour. They say that the X-rays are finished, and Jake has a broken leg.

"Well, no shit," says Sam. "You could tell that by looking at it. Legs aren't supposed to bend at the shin."

Alice glares at him, and says that they've wheeled him off for surgery, and are going to pin the broken bone.

"He was actually in surgery when we arrived; they took him to theatre straight after the X-rays. It's a pretty major break, but at least it's nothing too complicated. He'll be out in the next half an hour if all goes well."

She and Bella leave for Jake's to pack up a bag for him, as it looks like he'll be stuck in hospital for a few days at least. Sam and I stay, and wait for the doctors to tell us what's happening.

Eventually we're told that he's out of theatre, and then that he's coming round and we can go in to see him. Sam follows the doctor and I trail behind, anxiety rising as I pause at the door to the private room. Jake is lying on the bed, his left leg plastered to the knee. He looks exhausted, just about managing a small smile for Sam.

"Jasper? You coming in?" Sam brings me back to the present, and I drag my eyes away from Jake. I step into the room and close the door quietly, turning to lean my back against it as I stare at the floor, heart racing. I try not to let my mind wander, try not to think about the last time I saw someone lying prone, looking so unlike themselves. The harsh, clinical smell of the hospital is overpowering as I take short, shallow breaths and try to concentrate on the patterns weaving across the tiled floor.

"Jas? It's ok. Come and sit with me." Jake sounds a long way away. He and Sam are both looking at me, concerned.

I steel myself, take a deep breath, and push away from the door. I can taste the antiseptic in the air. I keep watching Jake; use him like a homing beacon. He's so far away. All I can see is his eyes. He has such dark eyes, so dark they could be pools of ink. I feel like I'm falling into them, like they're black holes pulling me in.

As I reach the bed, Jake reaches out and I grasp his hand gratefully. He curls his fingers round mine and squeezes.

"You're ok." His voice is, as always, gentle, wrapping comfort and safety around me, and I force a smile in response.

"Are you, Jake? We were worried about you." Sam's voice is laced with relief that his friend appears to be in fairly good shape, considering.

"Yeah, I'm fine. They've put some sort of metal pole in my leg, and all I have to do now is mend. I'm fucking tired though."

"I'll let you get some rest then. The boys will want to know how you are too, so I'll go call them and let them know you're on the mend. I'll stop by tomorrow, ok? Get better quick." He closes his large hand over Jake's shoulder, and squeezes, smiling down at his friend. "See you at visiting hours tomorrow, Jasper?"

I nod, and Sam is gone. The room feels much bigger, and too empty without his genial presence, and I realise I'm still holding Jake's hand. I don't let go.

"Sam said you were at the bottom of a ruck." My voice is thin, echoing in the tiled room.

"Look at you, using the right terminology." Jake smiles at me. "Yes, I was. I don't know what happened. Suddenly there was this noise, and everyone stopped. I was wondering what the fuck it was and then a whole load of pain hit me and I worked it out pretty fast after that."

"Does it hurt? Now, I mean?"

"It hurts like a bitch. The morphine is taking the edge off, but yes, it really does hurt. It's tiring too, I feel like I've run a marathon or something, I'm that exhausted."

"I'm sorry. I'll go, let you get some rest." I get to my feet, but Jake's grip on my hand tightens, trapping me.

"Please, stay. It's nice to have company, take my mind off it. Just keep talking, please?"

He's looking up at me, anxiously, and the expression doesn't suit him at all. I sit back down, and he relaxes, his fingers loosening in mine.

"What do you want me to talk about?"

"Anything. What did you do today?"

So I start talking. I describe my irritation this morning at having run out of milk, and having to forego my usual morning cup of tea. I can't drink it black, never have. I tell him every tiny little detail of my day, from the minor annoyances of my working day to the dog I watched unsuccessfully stalking a squirrel in the park on my walk home. I tell him about the ride to the hospital, and how Bella looked too small in the driver's seat, because the last time I was in her car it was him driving. He smiles at this, but otherwise doesn't respond. His eyes close as I talk, and I have a chance to study his face. He looks out of place, both too big for the hospital bed and too small to be himself. He's usually so much larger than life, but here, now, he looks vulnerable, almost childish. It frightens me, how different he is, how much I want him to be the Jake I know once more.

I keep rambling on, and start absent-mindedly trailng a fingertip over the back of his hand, which is still in mine. I massage small circles over his fingers, pressing into the muscle of his thumb and tracing the lines crossing his palm. It's only when I hear the door open to admit Bella, that my fingers still, I stop talking, look up, and realise Jake is asleep. She whispers to me that visiting hours are nearly over, and we have to go. She drops the bag she's packed for him on a chair next to the bed with a note letting him know what's there, then leans over the bed and kisses his forehead softly.

"Bye, big brother," she murmurs. "See you tomorrow." She motions towards the door, and I have to leave. I don't want to let him go, don't want to walk away, but Bella is waiting for me. I slide my fingers out from under Jake's, leaving his hand resting on top of the crisp, white sheets. I have that bereft feeling that comes when you leave something behind after holding on for a long time, the feeling that you've forgotten something important. My whole body feels peculiar, from my hands to my throat, as if all I should be doing is sitting, holding Jake's hand and talking nonsense while he sleeps.

**::::::::::**

I can't stop thinking about Jake. All evening I wander around my too-quiet house, unable to settle, unable to cook, unable to eat. I'm reminded of all those times I spent worrying about Edward. All those times I sat with him, just talking, trying to coax him back to me. The similarities are all too clear, and I start to feel the panic rising along with the bile in my throat. My rational mind tells me that the situations are completely different, that Jake is injured, not ill, and that he's going to be fine, that I won't lose him. It doesn't work, and I end up retching into the toilet, the porcelain cold under my hands.

I sit on the bathroom floor and lean my head back against the wall. I thought this kind of panic was over. My mind takes me to dark places, to Edward's blank gaze as I tried everything the doctors suggested to bring him back to me. His beautiful green eyes hadn't even seen I was there. Again, I try to convince myself that it's not the same with Jake, remind myself of how he'd watched me as I walked across the room, how he'd tried to reassure me even when he was in so much pain himself.

Eventually I pull myself off the floor, and get ready for bed. I stand in the bedroom doorway and stare. I'm not sure I can bring myself to sleep in our bed, not sure I can cope with waking up, alone, again. Not after a day like today, not when I'm already struggling to keep my head above water.

I pull the covers off, drag them downstairs and camp out on the sofa, hating myself for being so weak. Sleep is a long time coming.

**::::::::::**

"Jasper," he whispers, close into my neck. My skin prickles and I don't move, though I want to. His voice drifts into a childish singsong, chanting my name over and over. Eventually, he gives up as I remain motionless.

"Jasper, turn around. Please."

"No. You're not really here."

"But I am, Jasper, I am." Suddenly his arms are around me, pulling me back, pulling me close to him as he murmurs into my ear. "I feel like I'm here, don't I?"

He pushes himself as close to me as he can. I can feel his erection pressing into me as he leans over my shoulder and nuzzles my neck. "Of course I'm here. Where else would I be than here, with you?"

I turn around, finally, expecting the worst. But I'm wrong. It is him, and the world turns upside down.

He's covering me in kisses and I can't get enough. I'm writhing under him, his skin hot and slippery with his sweat and mine.

Pushing, grasping, licking, breathing. Oh god, I've missed this. He growls in my ear and I bite his shoulder. He tastes salty.

Grinding, groaning, pulling, clinging. I dig my fingers into his back and arch up so high I nearly levitate.

Faster, faster, harder, harder. We breathe in short, violent bursts and push closer, closer until his groaning stops with a strangled shout and quivering hips.

Rocking, smiling, loving and laughing. I roll us both over and lie on his chest with his arms holding me close. I listen to his heart beating.

It thuds slowly, over and over and over, and it sounds like waves.

I lift my head to look at him, and he's so still, so cold. The steel table is icy as I grab at him. A thunder in my chest and I'm squeezing his hand, his fingers lax in mine.

"Please, Edward! Please!" Sobbing, begging, wishing, hoping.

His hand is warm, fingers curling around mine and I look up in shock. His face is still, his sunken cheeks looking all wrong. I try to pull away, try to escape, but his strong grip holds me fast. I stare at him, transfixed with horror as his deep, dark eyes fly open and his gaze bores into mine.

I wake with a start, the echoes of my terrified shout ringing in my ears as I scramble backwards and clutch at the blankets. My heart thunders in my chest, and I hug my knees, huddling into the cushions and trying to understand what was happening in my dreams.

The image of Edward in the morgue won't leave my mind. I've tried to forget that hideous afternoon, tried to cover it over with every other memory, any other memory. Nothing works. Tonight... tonight it was different. He's never woken before, never clutched at me like some sort of horror-film monster.

The worst thing though, the bit that made me wake up with goose bumps covering my arms and cold sweat trickling between my shoulder blades, was his eyes. They weren't Edward's eyes looking at me, they weren't sea-green beauty and a link to the soul of the man I loved. No, they weren't Edward's eyes. They were Jake's.


	6. Chapter 6

I treat myself gently. I wander around the house, change my bedsheets, and stand at the window to stare at the rising sun. I drink tea, water the houseplants, and tidy the kitchen. I try to avoid thinking about eyes. By ten o'clock, I'm nearly dropping from lack of sleep, and decide to have a soak in the bath. Maybe I will relax. I'm over-generous when pouring, and end up with bubbles almost a foot deep above the water. No matter. I lie back, enjoying the heat. I play with the bubbles, making holes and mountains. By the time I get out the water is tepid, but my mind is calm. My dreams have receded into the background, and I dare to think about my friend.

**::::::::::**

I still can't shut the door. Again, I get rescued. Again, Angela bowls me over with her incessant chatter. She's pleased to see me, I think. I ask her if she's heard about Jake and she goes very still.

"Yes, I did." She shakes her head, bringing her eyebrows together in a worried frown. "Isabella rang me yesterday, she sounded quite upset. I don't blame her though, that boy has looked after her all her life, it must be quite strange to see him laid low."

She looks pensive for a moment, standing in the middle of her shop as the clattering of crockery and the laughter of customers seems to fade away, leaving behind just me, watching her, thinking of Jake.

The shop door bell jangles again, shaking her from her reverie.

"Anyway, what can I do for you, my dear? Tea? Cake?"

"I don't really have time to stop," I explain, trying to ignore the raised eyebrow. "I wanted to ask you for a favour."

Her eyes are intense, pinning me where I stand and I realise that as much as she seems like a typical little old busybody, there is a fiercely loyal sharp intellect hiding behind the disguise.

"Well, you better come in, then." She leads me round into the back of the shop, and into a tiny, cluttered office.

There are photographs all over the room, displayed in frames and pinned to the walls. I take a closer look, and the children looking back at me are strangely familiar.

"They're practically my own," Angela says. "It was so dreadful when their mother died."

Ah. Of course, I'm looking at Jake and Bella. I find one of both of them, with a man in a wheelchair. Jake looks about fifteen or so, Bella still a child sitting in the older man's lap with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he wheels downhill fast enough that Jake is running to keep up. Bella's hair is streaming backwards, and all three are laughing.

"That's their father, Billy. He ended up in the wheelchair after the same accident that killed Grace. The children came to live with me while he was in hospital."

I want to ask her more, but I daren't. I won't find out Jake's family history without asking him in person; I refuse to find out second hand. I keep staring at the walls, skipping over Bella and looking at Jake, adorable aged seven and dressed in a fireman outfit; fierce concentration as he blows out candles on a birthday cake; and as a teenager dressed in a suit, broad shoulders hinting at the man he'd grow to be, towering over the simpering girl on his arm.

"I'm sure you didn't come just to look at my old photos, though, eh? What is it you wanted to ask me?" I start, surprised. I'd almost forgotten Angela was there, and her quiet question cuts through my observations.

I turn, abashed, toward her and sit down gingerly on a tired-looking office chair before answering.

"I wanted to take Jake a get-well present." I feel myself flush with embarrassment as I realise how childish I sound. "I wasn't sure what he'd like, or even if he'd like anything at all, and especially if he'd like anything from me. But I thought he might like a cake? That wouldn't be too odd, right? Cake is safe." I take a deep breath, and she's watching me with an unreadable expression. "So I thought I'd ask you, if you'd tell me what you think he'd like."

"He'd certainly like it better than grapes or flowers." She snorts with sudden laughter. "Giving a grown man flowers, whether he's in hospital or not, might give the wrong impression. You're right, though, cake should be fine. And I'll help you make it. When are you going to take it round?"

We arrange to meet up again at her home later that afternoon, and I leave with her strict instructions not to be late, and a long list of ingredients to buy.

**::::::::::**

I'm early. The hospital smell still makes my heart race, but at least this time I'm not so worried. I know he's fine, and he's been moved to a ward. I sit in the waiting room, enjoying the cake warming my legs as I sit with the tin on my lap. Finally, I'm told that visiting hours are open, and I can go in to see him.

The ward is lively, nurses everywhere and happy, chattering people piling in to visit their friends and family. I'm swept into the room and stand, lost, in the middle as I cast about, trying to see him. He's a good way into the room, a few beds in from the end of the row, and frowning at the newspaper in his hand. As I approach, he looks up, and I'm rewarded with his dazzling smile, warm and friendly.

"Jasper! Hey man, good to see you."

I grin as if I hadn't seen him just the day before, and the rest of the ward dissolves into insignificance. He holds out his arms and I gape at him uncomprehendingly.

"Where's my man-hug?"

I perch gingerly on the edge of the bed, paranoid that I'm going to jostle his leg. It feels incredibly intimate, giving Jake a hug while he's sitting in bed and barely dressed. We come together in a graceless tangle of elbows; more back-slapping than real hugging, and it disappoints me. I pull away without looking at him; retreat to the hard plastic chair beside the bed..

"I brought you a present. Er, get well soon, and all that." I sound awkward as I push the tin towards him. He takes it from me, a slightly suspicious expression on his face as he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. I perch, uncomfortable, on the edge of the chair, my hands trapped under my legs to stop them shaking. I find myself wishing I hadn't brought anything, that bringing nothing would be infinitely preferable to bringing an unwelcome gift. Am I overstepping the mark? Am I presuming too much on our still-novel friendship, assuming a familiarity that isn't reciprocated?

He breaks me out of my circular thoughts. "You brought me a cake?" I can only manage a quick nod.

"You made it?" Again, a quick nod in response.

"Wow, Jasper. You never told me you were into cooking too! This looks delicious."

"I'm not really into cooking... I had help."

"From Angela?"

"Yes. She said you'd appreciate this recipe."

His eyes narrow and he inspects the cake closely, taking the knife I left in the tin and cutting a slice. He takes a bite, unmindful of the fact that he's dropping crumbs all over the sheets. He's clearly enjoying the cake – his eyes close and his head tilts back, and a soft moan rumbles in his throat. It feels much too personal to watch him, and I look away, only to see two nurses staring at him unashamedly. Completely unaware, he swallows, and shakes his head.

"Son of a bitch."

"What?"

"She didn't tell you what cake this is, did she?" I have no idea what he's talking about.

"It's a chocolate cake?"

"It's not just a chocolate cake. It's Ange's secret recipe, my favourite cake of all time, and she's never, ever, shared it. She won't cook it in the same building as me because she's convinced I'd steal the recipe. And she made it, with you?" His tone is incredulous, and tinged with jealousy.

"We hoped you'd like it."

"I love it. Seriously. I'm just insanely jealous that you got to make it and I still don't know her secret methods." I'm still unconvinced, still nervous that I've forced my way into a friendship that he doesn't want.

He sees my scepticism, and fixes me with a stern eye. "Really, I love it. Do you want a piece?"

"Are you sure?"

He rolls his eyes at me, then grins as he cuts me a slice. It's delicious, all moist and rich. I find myself echoing Jake's reaction, and close my eyes as I let the taste take over.

When I open them again, Jake's eyes are fixed on me, and his grin is stretched even wider. "I told you. Now do you see why Ange won't share the recipe?"

"It's criminal. The whole world should be eating this."

"I know," he muses. "The world would be a happier place, huh?" He looks thoughtful, absent-mindedly sweeping the crumbs off the bed.

We chat about inconsequential nonsense for some time, until we're both distracted by a babble of male voices growing louder and louder, as they (presumably) move up the corridor. The voices become corporeal, and we see that it's a handful of the rugby team bulling up the middle of the ward. Visitor number are, in theory, restricted, but the nurses on duty are already half-smitten with Jake, and this, added to the considerable charms of Riley and co disarms them, and they allow them all to stay, albeit with stern injunctions to be quiet.

Riley is over-dramatic, as usual, and drapes himself over the bed, resting his chin in his hand and gazing rapturously up at Jake.

"My hero! Wherefore art thou getting out of this place?"

"Two things, Riley. One, that's hideous butchery of both Shakespeare and the English language in general. Two, don't you like having me in bed?" Jake waggles his eyebrows salaciously, and Riley laughs, a raucous, joyful sound that has the rest of us smiling along with him.

"You guys remember Jasper, right?" Jake is acting the host. A blond man with smiling eyes shakes his head, and Jake frowns. "Have you two not met? Jasper, this is Emmett, our coach. Em, Jasper."

We nod, smile, shake hands, and Jake keeps talking. Apparently he thinks we'd get on. This man, Emmett, jokes with Jake, objects to being called "shorty", and wanders away to look for coffee. I watch him go, his loose, easy stride mesmerising.

Jake shares his cake with the boys, who all thank me. Riley says he'll break Jake's other leg if it means he might get another piece.

"Don't even think about it."

It's the end of visiting time and we all get up to leave. Riley bounds away amid a chorus of "see ya"s, and flirts with the nurses on his way out. Emmett and I are left reeling in the wake of their departure. Emmett grasps Jake's shoulder as he says goodbye.

"See you soon. Let us know when you get out of this place and we'll all come round."

"Will do. Thanks for coming, shorty." Jake earns himself a raised eyebrow, but, try as he might, Emmett can't restrain his grin. I turn to follow him out, but Jake stops me.

"Jasper? Thanks for the cake."

**::::::::::**

Three days later, Jake is sent home. Bella ignores the fact that he's probably going to be exhausted just from travelling, and organises a welcome-home party. There's about ten or twelve people here, and Jake's house feels cramped with everyone in the living room. We sit crammed on the sofa and the floor; leave the armchair ready for Jake. We chatter, and I can feel the surprise in the air when I join in. Emmett and Riley take me under their wing, drawing me in at every opportunity. When I speak more than a couple of words at a time, I'm rewarded with Riley's broad grin, followed by a dismissal of my argument. We bicker back and forth, and I love every minute. It feels so good to use my brain, to engage in conversation, to use the people skills that Edward always said I had.

I'm laughing when Bella arrives, Jake in tow. He looks beaten down, tired and in pain. He moves awkwardly on crutches, his usual grace and composure gone. He lowers himself slowly into the armchair, his broken leg sticking out uncomfortably. Bella flutters around him, fussing and questioning until Jake beckons her over, puts a finger to her lips, and tells her he's fine.

Riley tries to draw him into our conversation, asking simple questions and telling bad jokes, Jake spends most of his time listening, smiling, and flinching minutely whenever anyone walks past him. I decamp from the sofa and station myself on the floor in front of him, not caring about being on the floor, not caring that now people have to step almost over me to leave the room. They are much further away from Jake's leg, and that's all I care about. Without having to keep watch over his leg, Jake relaxes slightly, and before too long he's nodding, almost asleep.

"Jake, where are you gonna sleep?" Bella asks.

He looks puzzled, then glances sceptically at the stairs, evidently realising her concerns over his ability to manage them on crutches.

"I really don't want to try the stairs. If only I'd got that stairlift put in for dad, huh?"

"Yeah, it would be useful. But it's was insanely expensive and you're not going to stay in this house for the next twenty years, are you?" She's brusque, practical. "Anyway, sofa bed it is, then. At least the downstairs loo means you don't have to get up there for the bathroom."

"Except for a shower. Or have you got a volunteer to give you a sponge bath?" Riley laughs.

"I can wash myself, thanks. My leg is broken, not the rest of me."

"What, and ruin the hopes of all those hot nurses and nurse-wannabes just desperate to get their hands on your naked body? Disappointing, man, you should take advantage." Riley shakes his head, sadly.

"Not all of us have quite so few morals as you. Now, get your arse off the sofa and make my bed." Jake's smiling, but he means what he says.

Bella takes charge of the erection of the sofa bed, which is far more complex than it has any right to be. She despatches people on various tasks, fetching, carrying, or in Riley's case, just sitting down out of her way. I wonder if Riley is holding a torch for Bella – he watches her every movement, and does as she asks without anywhere near as much general dicking around as he does with everyone else. She's noticed too, I think. She gives him a gentle smile, when she sees him watching her, which broadens as he responds with a huge grin, all twinkling eyes and heartfelt pleasure at being noticed. I glance up at Jake and find him watching them too. He looks both amused and approving, though still watchful; his role as protective elder brother always apparent in his behaviour.

"Jasper? Will you run up and grab Jake's bedcovers?" Bella eyes both me and Jake, clearly not appreciating our scrutiny. I'm taken aback by her request, and automatically look to Jake for permission.

"Upstairs, second door on the right." Clearly, Jake has no problem letting me into his bedroom.

Ascending the stairs, I feel like an explorer into strange new worlds. About halfway up, a stair flexes alarmingly under my foot and creaks loud enough to wake the dead.

Jake's bedroom is large, airy, and immaculate. There are a couple of framed photos on the chest of drawers – one is of Bella and their father, laughing. The family resemblance is obvious. The other is a team photo, with Sam holding a trophy. It looks a couple of years old – Riley in particular looks incredibly baby-faced.

I panic suddenly, feeling that I'm being far too nosy, and taking too long. I gather up the duvet and pillows from the bed and hug them to me as I carry them downstairs.

Bella makes up the bed, then shoos us all away in a babble of voices, a flurry of handshakes, and a man-hug for me.

"Why is Jasper the only one to get a man-hug?" Riley is indignant, stepping toward Jake, arms outstretched.

Jake hugs him, then replies quietly. I'm not sure if I was supposed to be able to overhear or not. "Jasper's special. He needs hugs, you don't."

Riley quietens for a moment, then turns to me and holds out his arms once more. "Fancy another one?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, but pulls me to him, fast and hard. He's all ribs and elbows, so different from Jake it's hardly credible that they're the same species.

I go home feeling so much lighter.

**::::::::::**

_Edward,_

_I promised myself I wouldn't do this again, but I have to tell someone, talk to someone. Jake is okay, and safe, and I'm coping on my own. You should have seen the surprise on their faces – all these people who've only known me since I made friends with Jake, all these people who know me only as a quiet, withdrawn, boring person. It's nice to feel like myself again, to care enough to argue and joke with a silly boy like Riley, to actually start noticing the way people behave again._

_Just you wait, Bella will end up getting together with Riley. You should have seen the way he looked at her – completely smitten and he hasn't even realised._

_He hugged me, and he felt a bit like you, and it was okay. He's thin, and a bit too bony, and your height as well, but it was okay. He hugged me, I thought of you, but I could still function. Don't get me wrong, I miss you every day, but I'm learning to cope. I can feel the pain and put it aside. Maybe I can be me again, even without you._

_I love you._

_Jasper_


	7. Chapter 7

I wake gently, the cheerful sunshine of spring peering through the curtains and coaxing me slowly towards consciousness. Lying in my bed, I enjoy the sense of peacefulness, stretching out languid limbs and turning my face to the window, the sun warm on my closed eyes. I feel perfectly at rest, the clean sheets and soft duvet combining with the sunshine and making me content. I lie awake with my eyes closed for some time, listening to the muted sounds of the outside world. Eventually I'm too awake to stay in bed any longer; roll out of bed and pad barefoot to the bathroom.

I'm used to being on my own now. I leave the door open while I shower, and can hear my phone when it starts ringing just as I'm washing my hair. I ignore it, thinking that whoever it is can always call back. How urgent can it be, anyway? I don't hurry, take my time, enjoying the feel of the water running over my shoulders and down my back. The amount of pleasure I get from using my hands to make big sheets of bubbles out of shampoo makes me chuckle at myself. I'm using Edward's shampoo, finally. I finished my own bottle a few days ago, and had stood staring at his for a good few minutes before finally picking it up and using it. I'd smelled like him all day. It had been painful and confusing and comforting, all at once, but I'm pleased. It was worse leaving it untouched, and staring at me. Since then, I've slowly started taking Edward's things, and turning them into mine. I've already reclaimed the kitchen, with Jake's help that first day, but now I'm determined to do the same in every room.

My phone starts ringing again, and distracts me from my thoughts. This time I hurry, quickly rinsing away the last of the bubbles, and dashing out of the bathroom, grabbing a towel as I go. It tangles around my legs as I reach for the phone, and I end up answering the phone while falling sideways and almost breaking my knees on the bed frame all at the same time. Of course, it's Alice calling me, and I tune her out as I rub my legs and try not to swear. The discordant noise in my ear slowly starts to bleed into my consciousness, and I realise she's singing.

"...to you! Happy birthday, Jas! Where were you earlier? I called, but..." she trails off. "Jas? You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Just nearly broke my legs getting to the phone – guess I should have just stayed in the shower and called you later, huh?"

"Oh no! Are you okay? That's a rubbish way to start a birthday!"

I reassure her that I'm fine, and tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder so I can get dressed while listening to her make plans for my birthday. She sounds surprised and then delighted when I suggest that we go out for dinner.

**::::::::::**

My peaceful mood remains for the rest of the morning. My parents call to wish me a happy birthday, and I can hear the hopefulness in their voices when we have a longer conversation than we have had in months.

Eventually I've spoken to all of the friends and family who are likely to call, and am left alone with my thoughts. No-one has mentioned Edward, and I've been avoiding thinking about him. Without really meaning to, I wander upstairs, open my desk drawer, and take out the postcard he left for me. I hold it carefully, as if it will explode if I make any sudden movements. The picture on the front is of the beach – an ordinary sort of picture taken on an ordinary sort of day. I turn it over without looking at it. I know what it says without looking, and the position of each word is ingrained into my memory. Still without looking, I cover up most of the card with my hand and whisper "Happy birthday, Jasper" to myself before looking down. There, in his handwriting, is the last message I have from him: "I love you".

Reading it makes my breath catch in my throat and tears threaten to spill over. I read it again and again, the words blurry as I blink and blink again, trying to regain some control. I win, my breathing steadying and the tears prevented from falling. I smile at the card, and put it back in the drawer, never looking at anything other than those three words. I try to believe it, try to know the truth of it without letting it consume me.

**::::::::::**

Alice comes round after lunch and we chat all afternoon. She makes me try on the new shirt she's given me for my birthday, and I give in to her entreaties to model it, raising an eyebrow at her before walking down the room, turning to the right and walking back again.

"Strike a pose?" She looks hopeful, but there's no way I'm going to play at supermodels with her.

She sighs in defeat, and pats the sofa instead, inviting me to sit back down. As I do, she hooks her legs over mine, and pulls me towards her. I relax into her arms, enjoying the physical contact that is all too rare these days.

"How are you doing, Jas?" She sounds partly worried, partly hopeful.

"Ok. I'm ok." I say it reflexively, but as I speak I realise it's true. "It's getting easier."

"Good." Her arms tighten around me and I snuggle back towards her.

Sitting wrapped around another person like this is so familiar, and so comforting. It makes me feel sleepy, and I close my eyes and listen to her breathing. She murmurs in my ear.

"I've thought you looked happier lately. I don't know why you do, but I'm pleased."

I smile without opening my eyes. "Me too."

"Any particular reason? Just time, you think?" She is not as subtle as she thinks she is, and I have no intention of letting her draw me into a conversation about what or who might be helping me.

I deflect her questioning, and ask who's coming out with us tonight. As usual, Alice has gone somewhat overboard, and seems to be trying to organise the party of a lifetime. More than about three people is still a lot for me, but the fact that they're all friends should make it easier. Aside from Alice and I, the rest of our little party is going to be made up of Bella, Jake, and Riley, as well as Peter and Charlotte from work. It's somewhat intimidating, but I try to look enthusiastic.

"It'll be fine. I promise." I know she means well, but it's tiring, constantly dealing with everyone's pity. Sometimes I wish people would just stop, carry on with their lives, and let me deal with it.

"I know. I'm looking forward to it. When are we supposed to be there?"

"Seven. I need to go home and get ready - shall I meet you there, or do you want a lift?"

"I'll see you there. It's not far – the walk will be nice. I'd appreciate a lift back though."

"Okay, see you later then. If you're not on time I'll come and hunt you down." She's laughing, but her expression betrays her seriousness. I hug her tight and tell her not to worry.

An hour and a half later, I leave the house. The light is soft, with the sun hanging low in the sky and thinking about setting. I stroll easily down into town, enjoying the chance to stretch my legs. When I arrive, I feel calm and serene. I'm two minutes late, and Alice is outside the restaurant, looking anxiously up the street. When she sees me, a look of relief washes over her, and she waves enthusiastically at me, bouncing up and down and grinning madly. She hugs me, hard and quick, and shepherds me inside.

I'm last to arrive, it seems, but people seem to be getting along pretty well. Riley is waving his hands around wildly, while Pete laughs and Bella teases. Jake is sitting at the end of the table nearest me, his crutches resting against the wall. Alice squeals something and everyone turns to look at her, and they all break into smiles when they see us. Jake heaves himself upright, balancing on just his good leg as he crushes most of the air out of my lungs. There's a chorus of greetings and "happy birthdays" as I sit down, and then, thankfully, the babble dies away slightly. Alice pushes a menu at me and then prevents me from looking at it by pulling me into conversation with Charlotte. We send the waiter away twice because we're all talking too much to decide what we want to eat.

"Guys, please!" Jake's voice cuts through the noise and we fall silent, watching him. "I'm hungry. Shut up and choose food, or I'm going to starve to death right here." His stern tone is softened by his smile. Alice takes a breath in, as if to respond, but Jake cuts her off.

"Shush." He points at her menu. "Choose, or I'll choose for you."

I laugh at the mock-outrage on Alice's face, and bend my head to my own menu. A quick glance up and I catch Jake's eye, and grin widely at him.

Alice tries to recruit me to her cause, whispering in my ear, but I'm hungry too, so without looking, I simply put my hand over her mouth and turn her head to face Jake.

"If you don't be quiet and let us order dinner, Jake might eat you. Look at him. He's weak from hunger and wasting away."

Jake nods while I talk, putting on a starving-waif expression and puppy-dog eyes. When I say he's wasting away, however, he holds out an arm to Alice.

"Yes, see. I'm skin and bone."

Alice snorts with laughter as we both look at Jake's arm, heavily muscled and obviously powerful. As he brings the back of his hand to his forehead in a mock-swoon, his biceps bulge under his T-shirt. He looks anything but wasting away.

Alice appears to think so, too. "Fuck, Jake. What sort of weights have you been doing to make your arms look like that?"

He shrugs. "I can't use my legs, can I? So it's all the upper body stuff until I get the go-ahead to walk without the damn crutches." He fixes her with the glare again. "Stop trying to distract me. Pick your food and let me eat."

This time, she capitulates, and we finally make our order. The babble soon rises once more, before a brief moment of quiet when the food arrives. I can almost hear the relief from the other diners in the restaurant. It doesn't last long. Jake and Riley eat at the speed of light, it seems, and are soon back to their usual state of insulting each other with just enough lightness of tone to prevent it being offensive. Bella berates Jake for being mean to Riley (though she calls him Matt, I've fallen in with the habits of the rugby team and find it difficult to think of him as anything but Riley now), and Jake teases her instead, wondering why she's so bothered. Bella blushes beetroot-red, and Riley's eyes light up as he evidently realises that perhaps his feelings for her may be reciprocated.

When the dessert menus are brought to the table, there's almost an altercation, and Jake and Alice drag the waiter away and start whispering in a corner. I watch them go, confused, wondering what can be so important that Jake has needed to get up, seeing as he hates having to move around on crutches. He's normally so in control of his own body – it's slightly surprising, given his size – that he detests being restricted to swinging around in such a slow and cumbersome manner. Bella distracts me from them, and I assume that the two of them are going to deal with whatever the issue is. Alice comes back and smiles at me, waving away my enquiring look.

The reason for their mysterious, furtive behaviour becomes obvious when everyone at our table suddenly goes quiet, at a signal that I'm not privy to. I'm frowning at them, trying to understand what's going on, when they all start singing, and it all becomes clear. I turn in my seat, and the waiter is bringing a cake – covered in candles – towards us, with Jake swinging along behind and looking pleased with himself. The cake is set down in front of me, and I look round at my friends, overwhelmed. They're all grinning and singing and then clapping, while Alice and Bella shout at me to blow out the candles and make a wish.

Make a wish. It's so simple, but so hard. What do I wish for? The thing I really want to wish for is never going to happen – Edward is never coming back. I stare at the cake helplessly for what feels like an age, before Alice leans over and whispers in my ear.

"Go on. It's okay."

I glance at her gratefully, taking the comfort she offers this time, and hating myself for my hypocrisy.

I blow out the candles, and make the wish she offered me.

Let it be okay.

Jake sits back down next to me and I grab him in an awkward, sideways version of our man-hug.

"You made me a birthday cake? I can't believe it. Thanks, Jake. Thank you so much."

He laughs. "Of course I did. You know how much I love baking. You're a good excuse, is all. Though trying to get around a kitchen on crutches when your hands are covered in flour and egg is really hard, by the way."

I pick the candles off the top while everyone asks Jake what sort of cake it is, and praises his decorating skills. It's a incredibly beautiful cake, and I'm stunned at how much effort he must have put into it. There are patterns all over the whole thing, intricate sweeps and curves – some of it almost looks like lace. I almost don't want to cut it, but give myself a mental shake and pick up the knife. After all, I've had Jake's cakes before, and I know it will taste as good as it looks. I cut slices for everyone, then one for me. As I take my first bite I notice Jake watching me inquisitively. The cake is amazing, and I think my face makes that obvious, as Jake is grinning at me before I've even had chance to swallow and tell him so.

Everyone praises Jake's culinary skill, and Charlotte asks him if he's always wanted to be a baker. He laughs.

"I'm not a baker, I'm a mechanic. I just do this for fun."

"You're kidding me? You could earn a fortune from cakes like this. You're wasted on cars." Charlotte shakes her head ruefully.

Jake looks thoughtful. "I'm not sure. This is my hobby; what I do for fun. I don't know if it would be as much fun if I had to do it for a living."

She nods, then starts questioning all of us about our work, and our life plans. I tune out for a while, concentrating on my cake again. When the conversation comes back to Jake, though, I find myself looking up.

"So, what did you always want to do when you grew up? Was it always being a mechanic?"

"No, I was never really sure what work I wanted to do. I've always wanted the standard family life though. You know, get married, have children. I still want that. I just haven't met the right woman yet."

There's more talking, the conversation carried on, but the earth might as well have stopped turning. His words sink into my brain like lead weights as the once-moist cake turns to sawdust and ashes in my mouth. I stare at Jake, speechless, while my stomach roils and churns. I can't make sense of this, can't understand it, and claw at the table as I get shakily to my feet. I stagger slightly and Alice looks up at me with concern. I try to smile, wave vaguely towards the toilets, and walk away as fast as I dare.


	8. Chapter 8

It was not the ideal ending to a birthday celebration. After running from the table I'd locked myself in the toilets as I tried to breathe calmly, tried to regain some semblance of control. I'd managed to get myself together, to pretend to the others that I was fine, to laugh and joke and make conversation. They've all been so careful around me for the last year or so, none of them wanted to push. Only Riley looked like he might have questioned me, but Bella had given him a warning look until he'd backed off. I hadn't dared look too long at Alice or Jake, not really making conversation even when Alice drove me home. I couldn't meet their eyes; too afraid they'd see right through my flimsy excuses and feigned laughter.

And now I'm back at home, alone, and trying to make sense of my reaction last night. What is so wrong with me? I don't understand, can't make sense of why Jake's simple statement should make me feel like this. If I thought sleeping on it would help, I was mistaken. I'm just as shocked, just as confused now as I was then.

"Jasper! Let me in right now!" Alice's shrill tones echo through the house, and I realise she's shouting through the letterbox. How long have I been trapped in my own head?

I open the door and she barrels inside, sweeping me up and steering me into the kitchen, then inspecting me.

"What the hell, Jas? I've been ringing the doorbell and your phone for ten minutes!" She's shrill, panicky. Even her hands are shaking.

"I'm sorry," I say, feebly. I don't know how else to react, and she deflates slowly, shaking her head and pulling me into a hug.

"I was so worried. You weren't yourself last night, and then you've not been answering all morning, and I didn't know, I thought..." Her voice dissolves into silence and I realise with horror that she's crying.

"Oh Alice, no. I'm so sorry. I'm fine, it's okay." I hold her close and rock gently from side to side while she clings on to me and gets her breathing back to normal.

"What happened last night, Jas? You went as white as a sheet, ran away, and then barely spoke for the rest of the night." As always, she's making herself feel better by talking.

"I don't know." She looks up at me, sceptical. "Honestly, I don't. It was just something Jake said, something about always wanting the ideal life, marriage, children, the right woman and all that. It threw me, and I don't know why." As I explain I can feel the bile rising again, and have to hold myself very still, staring over the top of her head. I can see trees waving in the gentle breeze outside, and the new leaves of spring on their branches.

"Oh, sweetheart. He didn't mean it like that, you know he didn't. He wouldn't have meant to make you think of Edward. Or at least, not in terms of the ideal life like that. I know you two were soulmates, but that doesn't mean you're always going to be alone. Don't think that your ideal life is gone forever, Jas, please. You could be happy on your own, or you might meet someone new who you love and want to be with."

My blood runs cold as a possible explanation of the situation dawns on me, and I swear under my breath.

"What? What now?" Alice turns from sympathy to worry once again.

"Someone new?" She looks blank, and I'm forced to keep talking, hesitantly putting words around the barely-formed idea. "What if it wasn't about me and my ideal life without Edward? What if it was about Jake and his ideal life?"

There's silence, and I look down at Alice. I don't think I've ever seen her speechless before. She shakes her head slightly; then replies.

"Why would Jake's ideal life bother you, Jas?"

"Marriage, Alice. To the right woman."

"But why would that be a problem? Wouldn't that only bother you if... if you felt..." She trails off, thinking. "Wouldn't that only be a problem if you felt something for Jake? I mean, more than just a friend? You haven't fallen for Jake, have you?"

I don't want to believe that, don't want to believe that I could move on so easily, with Edward gone. But her words turn half-thought improbable nonsense into solid fact. They echo in my mind, and they won't leave. They ring with the sound of truth, and I'm powerless to escape.

And as has so often happened before, I'm suddenly sobbing in Alice's arms while she rubs my back and murmurs soothingly in my ear.

"How, Alice? I don't want Jake. What the fuck? What's wrong with me? What do I do now?"

"You must want him on some level. It wouldn't have bothered you like this otherwise, surely? But I don't understand how this is a surprise. Didn't you know he was straight?"

"What, because I've been Mr Observant lately, you mean? I didn't know, or at least I didn't notice, but I do know now, and I don't know why I'm so bothered about it. If you'd asked me yesterday I'd have said that Jake is my friend, nothing more, nothing less. And now I'd have to say he's my straight friend that my subconscious mind is apparently lusting after. What do I do with that knowledge? What will he do with that?"

"You'll have to talk to him."

"I don't want to talk to him. Can't I just pretend nothing ever happened?"

"Don't be stupid. He already knows something's wrong – in fact I wouldn't be surprised if he comes over today. I've been calling everyone trying to find out if anyone had heard from you after you gave everyone the silent treatment last night, then ignored me all morning and then didn't answer the door."

"I don't want to see him. I'm scared. What if he hates me?"

"He won't hate you. It'll be okay. But you have to talk to him sooner or later."

"I don't understand any of it. What about Edward?" The simple act of speaking his name makes the nausea come rushing back, and I lurch to the bathroom, barely getting there in time before I throw up. Even when breakfast and my birthday dinner are long gone, I keep dry heaving for several agonising minutes. Tears are running down my face from the effort, as well as the guilt. This is my punishment for thinking I might be able to cope without him.

Alice bullies me into getting washed and changed, then tries to force food and drink into me. I can take the tea, but I daren't eat anything. I manage to drink it all while Alice distracts me with chatter. She sticks to safe subjects, carefully avoiding anything that might remind me of Jake, or Edward, or myself. Eventually she convinces herself that I'm alright, and she's safe to leave me alone. When she's gone, I don't do anything. I sit, and I stare out of the window, and I try not to think.

**::::::::::**

Alice's prediction was correct. A few hours after she leaves, Jake turns up at my house. I briefly consider hiding until he goes away, but as ever, he's irresistible. I open the door and walk away. I can't meet his eye, and I don't want to risk getting close enough for him to hug me like he usually does. He follows me inside, sits down in the kitchen, rests his crutches against the wall and looks at me. I feel desperately uncomfortable, and want nothing more than to run away.

"What's wrong, Jas? What's happened? Alice was beside herself this morning." He sounds concerned, worried. He sounds like a good friend, and it only makes me less inclined to tell him. I don't want to risk losing him, don't want to risk having to live without him.

"Nothing, Jake. Nothing's happened. Everything's fine."

"Bullshit. If nothing's happened, why did Bella and I get so many panicked phone calls from Alice? She was this close to getting the police to break your door down, you know." He holds his fingertips about half an inch apart, then raises an eyebrow at me.

"Alice overreacted. Everything's fine." I am such a coward.

"Ok, everything's fine. So why are you hiding over there? Come and sit down." He leans back in his chair, and I glance at him, fleetingly meeting his eyes before looking away once more. I sit on the other side of the table, and I know I'm not fooling him. I feel so tense, it must be as obvious to him as it is to me. I'm perched on the edge of my chair, my shoulders hunched, and I feel somewhat safer, less exposed, like this.

He talks to me gently, telling me things I don't listen to and I don't remember. I take comfort in the sound of his voice, and feel guilty because of it. The guilt builds and builds, and I can't bring myself to do it any more, and interrupt him, the words blurting out without thought.

"Jake, you're straight, aren't you?" I keep my eyes fixed on the table, my hands gripping each other so tightly I can see my knuckles turning white. He doesn't reply for a long time, and when he does, he sounds confused.

"Yes. But you knew that, surely? Did you think I wasn't?" My breath leaves me in a long, shaky exhale as he confirms it.

"No. Yes. I'm not sure. I don't think I thought anything until I knew you were straight." That's too much, I've said too much. I hold my breath and brace myself for his reaction.

"What are you trying to tell me, Jas?"

"What you said yesterday, about what you've always wanted for your life – you know, the happy family life and all?" I glance up and he's nodding slowly, not sure what I'm getting at. "It just threw something in my brain, and I suddenly realised that I wasn't thinking of you as just my friend. That I was thinking of you where in the past I would be thinking of Edward. That whenever I've been happy lately, it's been with you, because of you. And then I found out you were straight, and this stupid mental house of cards just fell down."

I screw up all the courage I can, take a deep breath and look up. I meet his eyes and what I see scares me. He looks horrified and confused, and ever so slightly repulsed.

"What the fuck, Jasper? Have I ever given you any hint that I was gay? That I wanted to be anything other than your friend?" His words are harsh, but he sounds helpless, like a child trying to understand the complexities of the adult world.

"No, of course not. I didn't know I felt like that, Jake, I swear. This is as much of a shock to me as it is you, I promise. I'm so sorry, so so sorry. Please, believe me."

"I do believe you, but Jesus! How am I supposed to react to this? I've clearly done something that made you think I wanted you, even if you didn't realise. Why did you think I would?"

"I don't know, Jake, I don't know how to explain or what to say. The whole thing is a fucked-up product of my fucked-up brain. I mean, I already found the love of my life, and I couldn't keep hold of him. I don't want to look at anyone else. Not you, not anyone." My voice breaks as I think of Edward, and tears threaten, again. I'm so tired of crying.

"Hey. Stop beating yourself up. Edward is gone because he chose to go. It's nothing to do with you holding on or not. You can't keep pretending that you're responsible. It's not true, and it won't help. But this isn't about Edward. This is about you, and me. I like you, Jasper, you're a good friend. But a friend is all you are, and all you were ever going to be to me."

He waves his hands in the air, aimlessly. "This is a mindfuck, Jas, I'm sorry. I can't talk about this right now, I need time to think. Will you be okay?" So he's choosing to run. Running or fighting were always the options, I suppose. At least this way it's marginally less painful.

I nod my head in response to his question, and watch him labour to his feet. I get up, move round the table, and take a couple of steps towards him. I'm acting on autopilot, expecting his arms to open, expecting him to pull me into our traditional man-hug. Just as I start to move my arms apart, he turns, swings awkwardly on his crutches and moves away. The rejection is clear, and the absence of his warm body against mine is painfully obvious, the lack of contact stealing my breath and forcing me to wrap my own arms around myself instead, holding myself together as he leaves me. He looks back as he turns on the doorstep and gives me a small, rueful smile. I want to clutch at him, ask him to stay, but the apologies in his dark eyes stop me. I can't bring myself to beg, don't want to force those eyes to look on me with anger or disgust. I'll take "sorry", if that's all he'll give me. The quiet click as the front door closes echoes over and over in my mind.

**::::::::::**

I still don't understand the situation. I've had days to think about it – days in which Jake's silence is deafening – and none of it makes sense. I don't want to believe that I've forgotten Edward, don't want to think about moving on. Even considering the possibility makes my chest ache with guilt. Maybe that's why my subconscious picked on Jake. Choosing the straight man, it's safe. Like looking at pictures of celebrities, you know it's never going to go anywhere, so you might as well indulge, knowing you'll never have to deal with the reality. But of course, this is real.

The fact that Jake is also the perfect man doesn't help. He's kind, loving, funny, and I love every minute I spend with him. And now, maybe I can admit to myself that he's gorgeous. Tall, dark, and handsome, and I've fallen for a cliché. But I've already had a gorgeous man, a perfect man. I had him, I loved him, and I lost him. The idea of being able to find a second one is unbelievable. I'm just not that lucky – and realistically, most men are straight, so the chances of finding a soulmate who was also gay are slim enough. There was no way that would happen twice, no way that lightning would strike twice. I'm stunned at my own naïveté, my optimism. Why in the world would I ever have thought Jake was anything other than straight? If I'd paid any attention at all, I would have known.

As much as I wish none of this had ever happened, I can't help but feel relieved as well – that if I'm looking at other men, even straight men, in any way at all, it must mean that some small part of me has accepted that Edward is not coming back. Maybe this means it's safe to let him go.


	9. Chapter 9

Days run together, and I'm okay. I don't hear from Jake, and Jake doesn't hear from me, and I'm okay. I get up, I get washed, I go to work, and I'm okay. I cook, I eat, and I'm okay.

I've let go, I think. I've been so busy clinging on to Edward, clutching him like he's a rope over a precipice. Now, though, I've let go, and instead of plummeting to my death, I find that I was only an inch from solid ground, and I can stand on my own. I don't need the rope, and I'm not falling. I don't need Jake as my safety-net, because I'm not falling.

I loved him, and I lost him, and I'm still alive.

I attack the house in a spring-cleaning frenzy. I put on cheesy pop music and sing at the top of my voice. I clean the piano and tidy the music away. I move all the furniture into the wrong rooms and I hoover every inch of carpet. I put it all back in different places, the indentations in the carpet proof of the change.

I'm never going to be the same person again. But I can be a new me, a different me. I don't want to be the same as I was, because that would mean Edward had made no difference. But of course he did. He loved me, and I loved him, and he left me, and I'm still alive.

**::::::::::**

Alice pushes me through the door and I stumble forward, laughing, before turning and grabbing her, carrying her into the house while she giggles and kicks. I turn through the doorway into the living room and feel the smile on my face flicker and fade as I catch sight of long legs and broad shoulders. Alice stills in my arms and I set her down, raising an eyebrow at her, sure that she must have some sort of ulterior motive in getting us all together in the same room. Bella gets up from her seat beside Jake, and stands in the doorway, waiting.

Alice fixes me with a stern eye, then puts her hands on her hips and glares at both me and Jake. Neither of us say a word, just watch her.

"You." She points at me. "You need to snap out of it. Try living a little."

She turns to Jake and her voice grows more scornful, more sharp. "And you need to man up. Both of you need to man up. Me and Bella are going out, and you two are going to stay here and talk. Clearly neither of you has the balls to start a conversation without being forced into the same place, so I've had to take matters into my own hands. I'm sick to death of both of you behaving like emo, whining teenagers. Grow up and deal with it. See you later."

She whirls out of the room, sweeping Bella along with her. The front door slams and I'm still staring at the doorway, looking at the space where Alice isn't. Eventually I manage to turn my head and look over at Jake. He looks up at me and shrugs, smiling disarmingly.

"She's a bossy little cow sometimes, isn't she?"

I snort with laughter and grin wryly at him. "Yeah, she is."

Silence falls, and the smiles fade from both of our faces. Neither of us move, just look at each other. I feel like a deer, a rabbit, a small, flighty animal ready to run at a moment's notice.

After an age of looking, he sighs, and rubs his face. He stretches his broken leg out in front of him and scratches his knee, rubbing around the top of the cast. Finally he sits back, and looks at me once more. I've still not moved.

"I'm sorry, Jas. I should have called you. I didn't know what to say. I still don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything. It's my fault. I shouldn't have dropped it on you like I did."

He nods, slowly. "I won't pretend I'd rather not have known. Do you really feel like that, like you want to be my boyfriend and live happily ever after?"

"No. I never did, not really. I didn't really explain properly. It's not that I was watching you, making plans to have this happy gay life with you. It's more that you were there, and Edward wasn't. You're the only man I've touched since he died, except for my dad. And Riley, that once. I've not just lost my boyfriend, though. I've lost my best friend. I've felt a lot better, being friends with you. You're a good friend, Jake."

He's very still, watching me, listening, but makes no move to respond, and I have to keep babbling at him, have to try and make him understand.

"You talked me down. Remember, after driving me home? Before then, I was useless, an emotional wreck. You've been there for me so many times since then, stopped me falling back into that state of mind. Even if you don't want to be my friend any more, even if you're too weirded out by this whole situation, I wanted to tell you that. Thank you for that. So, thank you."

He leans his elbows on his knees and shakes his head slowly, sighing gently. I wait, and watch. One minute goes by, then two, and still he makes no other response. I wedge my hands into my pockets, and gather up my strength.

"Alright then. I'm just going to go now. Like I said, thank you. For everything. Bye, Jake."

It's surprising, how little I feel as I walk away. Instead of a storm of emotion, a torrent of pain, I just feel calm.

I'm halfway through opening the front door when I hear him call out.

"Jasper, wait!"

I pause for a fraction of a second, toy with the idea of leaving anyway, pretending I haven't heard. I close the door. I can't make myself leave him, not when he's finally talking to me again.

I stand in the hall and wait.

He appears in the doorway, looking flustered. "Jas, please, come back."

"I'm not going to watch you sit in silence, Jake. I may be an emotional masochist, but that's a step too far."

He grimaces. "Please. Come back in." He doesn't elaborate, just turns away and goes back into the living room. I stare at the empty space he's left behind, and still hesitate before following him.

When I see him again, he's back on the sofa, and looking anxious. It doesn't suit him, his genial, easygoing nature all at sea as he tries to deal with his thoughts. I perch on the arm of the armchair opposite him, and wait.

I'm starting to think that he's going to stay silent again, when he eventually breaks the status quo.

"This is very weird to me. I don't really know how to deal with it. But I'll try to get used to it. We both will, I suppose." I can see the decision taking shape in his mind, turning from maybe and what-if into yes, this. He straightens, and the panicked expression dissolves. "If you're okay with it, I'm okay with it. We both know it's not going anywhere. Right?"

"Right." I exhale in a long, shaking breath, and roll my head right back, loosening my shoulders and feeling the tension slowly drain away.

He's still looking at me, clearly unsure of my exact meaning.

"Jake, we're cool," I clarify. "We'll forget the whole thing ever happened, and get on with our lives."

"We are still friends though, right?"

I smile, feeling the relief shining through. "Of course, friends."

And at last, I can relax.. I join him on the sofa, and slowly, slowly we talk, and laugh, and tease, until we're racing through a normal conversation, jabbering away at such speed that we don't even notice the return of Alice and Bella until they come in with cups of tea and chocolate biscuits.

Alice leans over the back of the sofa, wraps her arms around my shoulders and kisses my temple.

"You two alright now?"

Jake laughs. "Yeah, we're alright. Give a man a break though, it's a hard thing to come to terms with."

I try to stop myself, but I can't help looking at him quizzically. What is he getting at?

He leans back, stretching one arm over the back of the seat and gesturing at himself with the other.

"It's not every day you get told you have, uh, 'universal' appeal." He grins wickedly, then winks at me, and I know that whatever happened before, we're definitely alright now.

I can't help but laugh before I punch him in the arm. "Dickhead."

The girls chatter, and it's just like nothing ever happened. Until I finally get up, ready to go home, that is. I hug Alice, say my goodbyes to Bella, and turn to look at Jake, who's got up with the rest of us and is leaning on just one crutch, propping himself up on his good leg while he watches. I catch his eye, and his face is deadly serious.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I'm unsure what he's getting at. I stay absolutely motionless, and don't say a word.

He smiles, and sighs. "Come here."

I take a step forward and he holds out an arm, welcoming me. Relief and happiness flood through me, washing away the last vestiges of doubt, the last lingering feeling that maybe he was just being kind, playing a part. He holds me to him and I laugh, giddy, as my arms close around his back.

"Thanks, Jake."

He releases me, laughing. "Couldn't let you go without a man-hug, could I?"

I just grin, unable to speak. I don't think he realises just how much this means, just how much I've missed him, missed his friendship, missed this sort of physical contact.

He laughs again, and it's infectious.

**::::::::::**

Watching a match with Jake is completely different to watching him play. He cheers louder, swears when the game isn't going his way, and keeps up a running commentary almost the entire time. I learn more about the rules in the first half than I have done in all the other matches I've watched. He is even more keyed up than he would normally be, though. This is the last match of the season, and is against the biggest local rival team.

He's finally out of his cast, the crutches no longer required, and it's astonishing, watching him, that he's managed to confine himself to such limited mobility for so long. He can't keep still, constantly paces up and down, staying alongside the ball and scrutinising every decision of the referee and touch judges. As he stalks away, intimidating the opposition supporters, I quietly laugh. I'm still grinning when he comes back to us.

"What?"

"Sorry, Jake, it's just too funny."

"What?"

"Your leg."

"Fuck you, Jas." He glares at me before looking down at himself and smiling wryly. "Maybe I should have worn jeans, huh?"

The leg that has been in a cast is not only nowhere near as muscled as the other one, but is noticeably paler as well. Given Jake's preference of wearing shorts, this is painfully obvious, and the difference is comical.

We both laugh, until the game recaptures his attention and he's lost once more. At least I've got Alice and Bella, though Bella is so entranced by watching Riley she's not great company.

We win the match, and Jake races on to the field as the final whistle blows, joining the boys in their triumph, back-slapping and hugging. Riley runs over to us and sweeps Bella up, swinging her around and around while he laughs, then pulls her close and kisses her, unaware of Jake creeping up and looming behind him.

"Be careful with my sister, Riley." Even though everyone knows he's joking, Jake's mock-menacing tone is still quite scary, the deep rumbling going straight to the spine like a growl, and Riley's laughter drains away fast before he turns and sees Jake's eyes twinkling, giving the lie to his tone.

"You're such a dick, Jake," Riley says, his voice shaking with relief.

"You would know," Jake laughs. "Come on, we've got a party to go to."

Riley kisses Bella once more, grins at Jake, and sprints away to get changed.

The end-of-season party is starting with a barbecue on the beach. Jake and I fetch and carry and get the fire burning, and by the time the boys turn up it's about ready to start cooking.

I chatter with Jake, and Sam, and Riley, and several of the others. Slowly, I'm getting to know them better. I'm half-listening to Jake as I turn burgers over, and try to stop cheap sausages from burning. I look up, laughing at Jake, and he's not alone. The big man with him seems familiar; I'm sure I've met him before. Surely I would have remembered, though. My mouth goes dry just looking at his back. He has broad shoulders, narrow hips, and as my eyes travel back up I can see Jake grinning at me, a wicked glint in his eye.

"D'you remember Jasper, Em?" The big man turns round, and I remember exactly who he is. He's the team coach, Emmett. His smiling eyes trap me, and I'm alone. There is no Jake, there is no barbecue, there is no beach. There is just me, and him, and face-aching smiles.

My disorientation is shattered by Alice whirling up, grabbing a hot dog and a beer, kissing me, and disappearing again, all in a babble of talk. I don't hear one word. I hug her when she kisses me, but am otherwise barely aware of her presence.

Emmett's smile has faded a little when he speaks, nodding towards Alice's retreating back. "Is that your girlfriend?"

I don't hesitate. I don't even think about hesitating. I just speak, and watch his smile come back, full force.

"No, she's just a friend. I'm gay. And single."


	10. Epilogue

I hand Alice another packet. "There should be some nice ones in there."

She slides out the photographs and starts flicking through them, lingering on some, passing quickly over others. She pauses on one for some time, then passes it to me.

"For the middle one?"

I look at it, and there's only one possible response. "Yes."

It's a photo of me, taken a couple of weeks ago. I'm not quite looking at the camera – I must be looking at someone standing next to the person holding it. I look so happy.

We sort through old photographs for hours, and finally I've got my collection finished. I leave Alice to do the careful placing, cutting, and rearranging. I was never artistic enough for that sort of thing. When she's finished, we put the back of the frame on, and hang it on the wall. It takes pride of place in the living room, and I stand back and look at it.

It's almost overwhelming.

The picture of me is in the middle, but my face is there over and over again, photo after photo after photo surrounding that one. There's pictures of me with Alice, with Bella, with Jake, with Emmett. There's pictures of me and Edward, laughing together, hugging, and one of us kissing that I don't think I've seen before. There's pictures of my friends on their own, too. One of Angela cutting a cake, one of Alice doing jazz hands and looking crazy. One of Riley raising an eyebrow, one of Jake doing one-handed cartwheels on the beach. One of Sam scoring a try, flying through the air and covered in mud. One of Emmett with his arms round Alice and Bella, looking cool. One of Jake wearing a pinny and glaring at the camera, pointing with a wooden spoon for emphasis.

It's my life, my friends, my past life. Edward belongs on there as much as the others do, and I can look at his photographs and smile.

When people come round, they look at the collection, searching for themselves. When Jake looks at them, he laughs, then calls me a dick for putting up the picture of him in an apron.

He points at a picture. "This is Edward, is it?"

"Yes." My voice is quiet, but strong.

He looks at me and smiles. "I'm glad you can put pictures up now. Not too many though, eh? Don't want to scare off the coach!"

"It'd take more than that to scare Emmett, Jake."

"More than what?" Em walks over to us and look at us both quizzically.

"More than pictures of Edward," I say, looking back at the collection.

Emmett wraps his arms around me, leaning his chin on my shoulder as he looks at them.

"Fuck, Jas, he was gorgeous," he muses. "What chance do I stand?"

I lean back against him, relaxing into his arms. "You're alive, for a start."

He laughs, tightens his grip, and leans down to kiss me.

Jake coughs, and waves. "Er, guys? Straight guy in the room still."

"Such a shame, huh? You think we could turn him?" Em whispers in my ear.

I snort, giggle, and pull free of his arms. "That's just mean." Jake is looking at us disapprovingly, and I can't stop smiling as Emmett laughs and winks at him.

**::::::::::**

_I've got so much to tell you. Well, I've got so much to tell. I'm on my feet, Edward, and I'm okay. I'm redecorating the house. I never really liked your minimalist taste that much. I'm keeping it in the kitchen – it just seems to work – but I'm putting colour in the rest of the house. And cushions, and pictures, and clutter everywhere. I'm thinking about getting a dog. It's hard to decide, though. I've been to the local shelter, and there's hundreds of them. There's a gorgeous big one, a German shepherd cross I think. He's lovely, but Jake says I only like him because the dog's name is Jake. Who knows, maybe he's right._

_That's all water under the bridge now, by the way. Jake's got used to the idea that he's attractive to men, and I'm weaning myself off him. Emmett is helping with that. We've been out a few times, and are taking it slow – it's not a relationship, but it could be, if we try. I don't think I mind either way, right now. But it's good to be out, having fun with a guy, just the two of us. He turns heads wherever we go, and I get that proud feeling – the one that says "yeah, he's hot, and he's with me". There is a streak of mischief in him a mile wide: he gets chatted up by women, and he just rolls with it, flirts back, and then pretends to get distracted, and kisses me. You should see their faces._

_Sometimes I go out with the rugby club and all the associated hangers-on. I'm becoming something of a club mascot, actually. Perhaps being the coach's not-quite-boyfriend does that, perhaps it's because they've all been so protective of me. Riley insists on trying to set me up with every man he sees, regardless of Em's reaction._

_Anyway, that's what my life is like. The girls, and the boys, and me. It would have been good to have you here to enjoy it with me._

_I'm not going to write to you any more. I don't think I need to do it, and I know it makes no difference to you. Maybe I'll see you again one day, years from now. Until then, though, know that I loved you, and a part of me always will. In the meantime, I'm going to love, and I'm going to live._

_Goodbye, Edward._

_Jasper_

I fold the letter and slide it into the envelope. I seal it, and I seal the older ones along with it. Putting them in a shoebox, I carry them upstairs, and into the loft. I set the box down, alongside the dusty, forgotten sidelines of my life, and turn away. I climb halfway down the ladder, then look back. The box is almost lost amid a jumble of old suitcases and childhood toys. I smile at it, and turn out the light.


End file.
